Firefly 'Verse Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep
by suz mc
Summary: “See me safely through the night. And wake me with the morning light.” A mother’s plea sends John Winchester on a mission to see Emily safely through terrifying nights. But is it the right thing to do? third in the Firefly 'Verse. Daddy!Dean story, au
1. Chapter 1

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Chapter 1/?

By: Suz mc

Dean had fallen silent, apparently stunned by the mound of paperwork spread over Bobby's kitchen table. Research on unknown mystic boogie men and endless pages detailing Pagan rituals had never confounded his brother the way this collection of files, blue-backed legal documents, and financial statements had done in one afternoon. The sheer volume of this paper storm that had Emily as its eye must have sent some lawyer's kid to Disney World.

Cold beer in hand, Sam sat down across the table from Dean. "Whole lot of paper to take care of one little girl, huh?"

Ariel Anderson was nothing if not thorough. She'd taken the responsibility Calley Rail had entrusted her with as Emily's guardian seriously. The woman had spent hours on the phone talking to Dean and to Sam, making sure Emily was safe and secure, and making sure they were going to protect her future, before she'd forwarded the documents to them.

Dean reached over and took Sam's beer without asking, downing a big gulp from the longneck bottle. "So this is what you were going to do with your life before I sprung you from college? Spend all day creating piles of this shit or translating it? No wonder people hate lawyers."

"Okay, let's start with the most important one first," Sam said, reaching over to the far side of the table. "This, you sign here below Ariel's signature and it relinquishes her position as Emily's guardian and trustee over her financial decisions to you." He slid the document in front of Dean and handed him a pen. Dean hesitated over the form and Sam said, "Your real name, dude."

Dean began to scrawl his signature. "I'm not stupid."

Sam understood the weight of what Dean was doing. He'd felt it the first time he began to sign documents at Stanford. Winchester boys had been taught to fight creating a paper trail all their lives. Dad had drilled into their heads every day that being in the system was bad. But Dean didn't want Emily to lead a wandering, undocumented life so he was putting himself into the system.

"This is legal? Nobody can change this?" Dean was reviewing the document tentatively as if he half expected it to burst into flames.

"Nope. You make all of the decisions for the minor child Emily Winchester from this second forward. Congratulations. It's a girl." Sam picked up the other stack of documents and tried to ignore the deer in headlights look on his brother's face. "These are the accounts Ariel set up. College fund and trust fund. Here's where she sold Calley's house. That's in a separate account for you to use as you see fit to provide for Emily. This last one is an account for anything Ariel sells from the remaining artwork and payments from any use of Calley's work or name. She's retaining the rights to agent the work, and apparently there's more stored away that she's holding until you or Emily decide the time is right. When Emily is twenty-one she has the option to retain her services or take over—"

"Slow down, you lost me at college fund." Dean had snatched the paper away and was trying to absorb the amount on the page. "This all belongs to Emily?"

"Yep. Ivy League level dollars. Calley made good decisions with her investments and life insurance. She was smart." Sam said, finally accepting the fact that Dean wasn't giving back his beer and going to the refrigerator to get a replacement. His brother was scanning the papers and the zeroes with an open mouthed stare. "Look, Dean, you should be happy about this. Calley took care of Emily's future. You can send her to private school, college; get her anything she wants without you having to do a thing."

Dean's confusion disappeared with a sudden flash of anger.

"I can take care of my own daughter, Sam." Dean stacked the papers and flipped them over on the table like they were an insult to his manhood.

That came out of nowhere and Sam had to take in a deep breath to regroup. He originally thought Dean would be deliriously happy, that the trust fund and bank accounts would take a load off his mind. But this was Dean. The Dean who knew how to rig a Coke machine to spit out change when Dad was gone too long and the money ran out, but would starve before he'd take the free Christmas dinners the church down the street was handing out. The Dean who took pride in hustling pool, but would rather be homeless than take a handout.

"Look, Dean, I didn't mean that you couldn't," Sam said, trying to clarify things. "I just meant it would be one less thing you had to worry about."

"Hell, Sam," Dean snapped, shoving the papers back into an enormous envelope. "I'm not worried at all. This will all be waiting on Emily when she's eighteen. I don't have to live off of my kid's money or some poor dead woman's money, either."

"I know that, but—"

"I'm not going to blow it on booze or ammo. It's hers." Dean put the envelope away on a side table and clammed up.

Dean was staring out the kitchen window, taking in the chaotic view out of Bobby's overgrown, rusted property. Sam just left his brother to himself for a while to cool off. Bank accounts and figuring out a more stable way of living than credit card fraud and hustling pool was strange territory for Winchesters. Sam had a firmer grasp on normal than Dean, even though his time in that world had been brief. The prospect of being part of that world again felt as strange to him as it did to Dean.

Talking about Emily was easier.

"How long are they going to be gone?" Sam joined his brother, staring at the disorganized mess that passed as Bobby Singer's backyard.

"Couple of hours. They went to Block Party to deliver a motor." Dean grinned over at his brother and a quick memory of the most amazing place in junkyard lore passed between them. "She's going to love it."

"Damn, if I'd known that's where they were going, I'd have gone, too." Sam drew in a long drink from his bottle. Block Party was the wonderland of junkyards. An old hippy friend of Bobby's, bent on recycling before recycling was cool found a way to crush wrecks into huge metal blocks and stack them into castles and forts and an enormous maze that covered a third of his ten acre lot. Sometimes when their Dad had left them with Bobby, he'd haul both boys over there to wander around the maze. They never set foot in Disney but Block Party was good enough.

"Well, see, I asked and was told it was an Uncle Bobby and Emily date and I wasn't invited either," Dean said, forgetting his insulted outburst from before. "Bobby's eatin' the Grandpa shit up, isn't he? She really seems to enjoy being with him."

"Yeah, I guess he's the closest thing to a grandfather she's ever had." Sam couldn't help the pang he felt for her real grandfather and what he was missing. He'd seen how instantly John had loved Emily and it must have taken one hell of a fight for him to get to her from the great beyond. "It's a shame she won't remember Dad."

Dean put his empty bottle in the trash and leaned back on the counter. "Yeah, but her remembering what went on with those bastards might have been more than she could recover from. Dad knew what he was doing when he took all those memories away, even if it took him away with them."

"She seems better since we've been here. How'd she do last night?"

"She was up a couple of times, but it's getting better."

"And how about her, uh, talents? Have you said anything to her yet?"

"Sam, I don't want to hear—Hey Cutie Pie!"

Emily came bouncing into the room, blowpop poking out of her cheek and a look of intense glee on her face. "Daddy! It was so cool! The man squished cars into big ole blocks and made a castle and a thing you walk around in out of 'em and Uncle Bobby got me a sucker!"

It all flooded out in one long breath and she punctuated every word with a wave of the sloppy sucker she'd pulled out of her mouth. Dean had her on his hip, every ounce of tension and worry about the future drained away in the wave of jubilance that was Emily. It was the relief and peace Sam had never been able to give his brother and it made him happy to see it now.

"So you got to wander around in the Block Party Maze, huh?"

"Yep!" She gave the gooey red blowpop another lick then yanked it out again. "Want some?" She waved it in front of Dean's face.

"I think I'm good, but thanks." Dean plopped her on the counter and grabbed a dishtowel to wipe her hands, then seeing the futility of it, tossed it back into the sink.

"Your daddy and I used to go there when we were kids." Sam was enjoying watching his brother with his daughter. They were both happy and, after what that four year old had been through and what that thirty-four year old had been through, it was damn near a miracle. Moments like this were few and far between and Sam had learned not to analyze them, just accept them on the rare occasions when they showed up.

"We got losted once."

"Did you hold up your flag so they'd come get you?" Dean had a crooked grin directed at his brother. Any time Sam had wanted to shoot up what Dean called "the pansy flag" Dean would yank it out of his hands and launch it javelin style over the walls so they had no choice but to continue to blindly wander their way out.

"Nope. Uncle Bobby said we don't need no stinkin' directions!" She said it with her eyebrows knitted together, doing a fair Bobby Singer impersonation.

"And we didn't, did we?" Bobby came into the room, grinning like he had some grand secret only he and Emily could share. "Made it through in forty-five minutes. Not too shabby for beginners."

"As many times as you took us through there, you should be able to do it blindfolded," Dean said, snaking his arm around Emily's waist to pull her off the counter. He settled her in a chair and went about the business of getting her lunch. That had always been his job. Make sure the family got fed, got sleep, and got anything else they needed.

"Boy, things change. They got a mini-forklift now, so Camden changes the layout once a month." Bobby eased behind Emily's chair and ruffled her hair while she stuffed her mouth full of PB&J. "We'll race 'em next time, Lil Bit."

The normalcy of it all sent a shiver through Sam's body. A kitchen. Saturday afternoon ballgame humming over the TV in the room next door. Things that needed to be done being put off until Monday. PB&J. A four year old and her daddy. Uncle Sammy who was expected to bridge the huge gap between hunter and civilian for his brother. Surrogate Grandpa Bobby Singer doing his damndest to replace his murdered baby daughter's memory with this new little girl. Dean Winchester doing daddy things like making lunch while pondering how the hell to give a child the world when that world might want to chase her around with pitchforks and torches if she ever slipped up and showed people what she could do with those tiny hands and a few fireflies.

"Sammy?! Stop thinking about Zach Efron!" He jumped at Dean's voice, wondering just how long he'd been staring. It had only taken a few thoughts for normal to fade back into abnormal.

"Sorry, zoned out."

"That's Troy! You like Troy, Uncle Sammy?" Emily asked through a mouthful of sandwich.

"Oh, he does, Emily. Your Uncle Sammy thinks Troy is dreamy." Dean drawled his way through "dreamy" and Sam waited until Emily was watching her dad pour potato chips onto her plate before he flipped him the bird. "Bet he's been waiting for you to ask him to watch 'High School Massacre' with you."

"Not massacre, musical, silly Daddy." Emily looked over at Sam as if sharing some secret gossip, crunching away on her chips, talking between bites. "Troy sings good. He's pretty."

Dean grabbed a chip for himself. "Okay, Emily, lesson one -- Boys are the root of all evil."

"But you're a boy."

"I'm your dad so I don't count."

"Uncle Sammy's a boy."

"Just barely."

"You're funny."

"He thinks so," Sam said, trying to kick Dean under the table only to miss and nearly topple out of his chair.

"He's right, Lil Bit," Bobby said, joining them at the table. "Boys are idjits and these two are proof positive." He stopped behind Sam's chair, holding out a couple of tools and a gallon sized freezer bag. "Sam, you still familiar with the business end of a screw driver?"

"If memory serves," Sam said, taking the items from Bobby and pushing back from the table. "What do you need?"

"Hood ornament and right rearview mirror from the '85 Porsche at the back of the lot." Bobby turned to go back to his office, tossing one more order over his shoulder. "Don't lose any of the hardware."

Emily was just finishing her sandwich, so Sam tossed one of her potato chips into his mouth and said, "Come on, Em. Let's go dismantle a Porsche."

"Okay!" She hopped brightly out of the chair, trailing behind Sam like one of the cocker-weiller pups outside. "What's a Porsche?"

"A car rich guys drive to compensate for having lit—" Dean bit his tongue down on the nasty that almost made it out, "—uh, because they aren't cool enough for an Impala." Dean caught Sam shaking his head and laughing back at him.

"Bye Daddy!" Emily passed in front of Sam and bounced out the door.

Keeping Emily busy had become the household pastime around Bobby's place and Dean was grateful to have two other people to help. It seemed like the right thing to do, keeping her occupied. He hoped it was the right thing. Hell, what four year old needed quiet time? She needed fun. She needed distraction so the horror she'd been through would become the past and go the fuck away. It was working. The only time she whimpered or cried was in her sleep when all her distractions and defenses were taken away. Maybe if he could manage to fill up her head with non-scary, non-death related things that a kid's head should be full of, then that would level out, too.

Sam gave the plastic bag to Emily as they passed by the window and he was chatting her up about something. It was good to have Sam on board with this fathering thing. He was smart and Emily was smart so Sam could put his Brainiac skills to good use. Pretty soon Dean would have to start thinking about things like school and a home and a life and--

His headache was back. He took another look at the bulging envelope full of legal mumbo jumbo and gobs of money Calley had left for Emily's future. Calley had probably lain awake at night, dreaming of the perfect life she wanted for her child, thinking and planning like the ideal mother. Now Emily was a well financed pre-schooler in the hands of some jerk who knew how to torch a zombie but had never had a checkbook or a legit credit card.

The envelope full of Calley's thoughtful planning was heavy in his hands. Calley obviously knew how make a little girl smart, healthy, and happy. Calley's memory was going to grow more perfect, more ideal, with every passing year as Emily grew up. Calley wasn't going to screw things up or make mistakes or disappoint her little girl. Calley was going to be some perfect example of mother love who threw herself on a goddamn burning demon to save her kid. How was he going to compete with that?

Dean tossed the envelope back to the table, amazed at what a gigantic prick he was for being jealous of the very woman he'd helped to destroy.

"The cash is great, Calley, but would a manual have been too much to ask?"

****

Emily had been talking non-stop since she and Sam had left the house. Her voice was light and climbed higher and higher with every question and observation. Who did all these cars belong to? What day was it? Did he have a car? What was his favorite color? Did those puppies have names? Could she name them? Did they miss their mama?

It was hard to keep up and she didn't let go until Sam gave her an answer to each and every inquiry. God, she was making up for all that time lost in silence.

The long dusty walk to the back of the junkyard took a while, but finding the remains of one totaled Porsche was easy. Bobby always made the more valuable wrecks accessible.

"Hold this bag, Em, and I'll drop the parts in," Sam said, happy to find something to temporarily occupy Emily's mind. He started with the hood ornament first.

"Is that a Porsche? It looks like a sticker." Emily leaned in closely to inspect the metal coat of arms that served as a hood ornament for a 1985 Porsche Carrera.

"The whole car is called a Porsche. What we're after is this little thing." Sam gave the entire car the once over. It looked like someone had run it through a trash compacter from just behind the rearview mirrors to the back, totaling the car and anyone unlucky enough to be inside of it at the time.

"Why?"

"Because somebody else with an '85 Porsche busted theirs and wants to replace it."

It had been a while since he'd pulled pieces off the wrecks in Bobby's yard so he had to give some thought to exactly what tool he needed and just how to get the emblem off in one piece. He and Dean had always been fascinated by hood ornaments. They would collect them from around the lot then make a game of remembering what model they belonged to and race to see who could put them back the fastest.

"My daddy's car is better."

"Have to agree with you there."

Sam raised the hood to get at the bolts holding the ornament in place. It took a bit more muscle than he'd figured to budge the small nuts around the threads. Porsche parts had to be handled carefully. Any customer willing to fork over the cash for them wouldn't tolerate scratches.

Emily had wandered away, leaving the plastic bag on the ground beside Sam's feet. Four year old attention spans couldn't muster enough patience to hang with her uncle while Sam struggled with the stubborn hood ornament. She was running around in circles between the cars, dragging a long piece of rope behind her to entertain one of those freaky hybrid puppies Bobby was giving away. He couldn't see her anymore, but he could hear the puppy yelping and Emily babbling lightly to him about how sweet he was and what a good puppy he was and to "come on, puppy!"

Sam had the rearview mirror dangling by one connection when he realized Emily's voice had disappeared.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Chapter 2

By: Suz Mc

"So, you and Sam get the paperwork sorted out?" Bobby was cocked back in his ancient office chair, feet propped on the corner of his desk. There were stacks of papers everywhere, notes tacked to the walls, tiny bits of information that passed for organization in Bobby Singer's world.

Dean shook himself out of the daze he'd allowed to take him over for the last few moments. He'd wandered into the doorway of Bobby's office and simply planted himself halfway in and halfway out. It's how he felt at the moment -- halfway in and halfway out of his life.

"Yeah. Signed my actual name and everything. Emily is officially and legally mine to screw up."

"Oh, so that's what you're going to do. I thought you were going to be her father." Bobby put his feet on the floor and hunched back over an invoice he'd been scribbling earlier. "Nice to know you have a clear plan."

"Smartass much, Bobby?"

Bobby's eyes closed and he began to rub one of his temples. "What do you want, Dean? Need me to tell you again that you're a good kid and you deserve to be happy? You want another self esteem seminar? If I haven't beaten it into you, after all these years, you're not gonna listen now so why don't you just grow up, stop this 'I'm not worthy' shit, and get on with it."

"Just what is that, Bobby?" Dean started pacing around the claustrophobic office space. "Go to Lawrence and find out what puzzle piece Dad left for us figure out? Join the PTA? That's taking a disguise to a whole new level of crazy."

"Why not?"

Bobby was pissing him off. "Because, number one, that takes money and at this particular second, I've got about two Benjamins in my pocket, a trunk full of firepower, and a car. That's my net worth. Period."

"Looks like Emily's mama left you two with enough to get started on." Bobby finished scribbling and folded the paper into an envelope.

"No. I won't do that."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not an asshole, that's why."

"There's been some debate about that, kid."

This was not the way this conversation was supposed to go and Dean wasn't exactly sure why he'd started it in the first place. He was sure that Bobby's pseudo-psychiatric stabbing wasn't helping. "Maybe I am an asshole, but I'm not a big enough douche to lay back and live off my kid's money."

"Seems Emily's future is taken care of with plenty to spare. Maybe that's what Calley would want you to do with the rest of it."

"Oh, I'm sure Calley Rail would be thrilled for the guy who screwed her and got away free and clear to live it up with her cash and her kid and have her life."

Bobby tossed down his envelope and pen. "You ever heard the term 'survivor's guilt', boy?"

"You ever thought of not having a bromance with Dr. Phil?"

Bobby's mouth opened for another round but closed hard around whatever he intended to say. Grabbing a scrap of paper from the four million other scraps littering his desk, he turned and shoved it into Dean's hand. "This is a friend of mine who needs his GTO to go faster than it should. You up for doing a modification?"

GTO. That derailed his train of thought completely. Made him feel like a cheater to his baby, who was parked right outside needing some attention herself. Pontiac GTO. Muscle car. It even sounded badass.

"What year?"

"68."

"Fastback styling?"

"Yep."

"Vintage?"

"Mostly, but he's not tied to vintage under the hood."

"How fast does he want it to go and does he have cash?"

"Fast as you can make it go this side of a jetpack and he'll pay what it takes."

Dean started dialing.

***

Sam had called Emily's name a couple of frantic times without getting an answer. She'd disappeared fast, like she'd dropped into some muffled black hole.

"Emily!"

Sonofabitch. He should have kept her in sight. Who knew what was roaming around under those cars?

Shit.

"Emily! Where are you?!"

Sam got a sickening wave of déjà vu when he said those words. He'd shouted that same sentence in a hotel room not a week ago, only to find Emily had been taken by psychotic demon worshippers. Hadn't gotten an answer then, either.

He wove his way through the wrecks, following a rope-shaped drag in the dirt to trail her. Puppy prints dotted either side of the trail and Sam's feet blotted them out as he followed, squeezing through a narrow space between a shattered minivan and the back end of a Ford Ranger.

When he popped out on the other side, he took in a long, relieved breath at the sight of Emily standing beside a bright red BMW convertible. Her hand was resting on the door panel and she stood completely motionless except for the breeze waving around her hair. The pup had given up trying to get her attention, and was lying comfortably at her feet, snoozing in the dirt.

"There you are! Why didn't you answer me?" It came out sharper than he intended and Sam expected her to react, but she didn't. "Emily?"

Sam stood beside the wreck and finally caught sight of the little girl's face. The happy, vibrant little girl was gone. She was frozen in thought, touching the scratched red metal as if feeling an emotional connection. When she finally turned her face up toward his, the look made a tight fist form in his chest. Large dark brown eyes stared at him, overflowing with sadness.

It was the first time he realized what Dean had been saying about Emily having Dad's eyes. Sam had seen that look in John Winchester's eyes over and over, usually late at night when he would stumble across his Dad sitting in a chair with a bottle dangling at his side. It was the look of someone who finally got the idea that the one thing they wanted most in the world was lost to them. As a boy, seeing that in your dad's eyes was just too big to deal with, too big a fire to put out in someone who was supposed to be invincible.

Emily wasn't invincible. What came pouring out of those eyes was more than sad, more than vulnerable.

"This looks like my mama's car." She patted the door with her hand like it was a family pet.

Sam dropped down to the ground beside her, leaning back against the convertible's flattened tire. "Really. Bet it was nice."

"Mama's wasn't broken."

She was scanning the wreck from one end to the other, comparing every inch to the car she must be seeing in her head. The front end of the beamer was crunched in all the way to the windshield. The passenger side was bent and scraped and the interior was waterlogged and molded from being exposed to the weather as the cloth top was in a tattered mess over the backseat.

Sam watched Emily stare at the car, eyes focused on the driver's seat, the place her mother would have occupied in every memory the little girl had of Calley.

Just like John Winchester behind the wheel of the Impala, one wrist lapped over the wheel, eyes fixed on the road to wherever. Sam remembered waking up from a long sleep in the backseat, disoriented and not knowing where he was. Seeing that man's hand on the wheel was enough to settle him. Dad knew where they were and where they were going. He was at the helm and it was enough to calm a little boy. He was home in the Impala with Dad. Even now, if he woke up and saw Dean's hand there on the wheel it felt like home.

Emily's home was gone and she'd just been slapped in the face, full force, by a memory of what home used to be.

"It's a cool car, Emily. Bet you and your mom had lots of fun in it."

"Mama has a closed up car for carrying stuff but this is the fun car."

"Bet you two had a lot of good times in it."

"On my birthday, Mama took me and Mai Lee and Roshni to get sparkles in our hair and paint our nails and we got shiny sunglasses and tiaras and pink feathers and rode with the top down." The whole thing was playing through her mind. Sam could see it running, beginning to end, like she was sitting in the backseat of the car with her friends, Calley at the wheel, with no bigger worry than how to keep feather boas from blowing to pieces all over Austin city streets.

"Sounds like a great party."

"We went to a real live tea room and people were staring at us and Mama said, 'Let 'em look.'"

Her eyes were welling up, those big sad eyes.

"I like the way your mama thinks." Sam wanted to do something to stop this slide down into heartbreak, but there wasn't a way to get in front of it now or ever. It was here and was always going to be here.

"We went to the beach sometimes."

"Your daddy can take you to the beach again." Dean at the beach. That was funny. Dean hadn't been to the beach since he was twelve and began his moratorium on shorts. But he'd go for Emily.

Emily leaned her cheek against the scuffed red paint and fixed her gaze on Sam's face. The change in her expression was clear and ultimate.

"Mama's never coming back, is she?"

Once he said it, there was no taking it back. Maybe he should just keep his damn mouth shut and let Dean take this one. Maybe if he didn't say anything, that would be an answer. The silence around them got louder and louder and Emily just kept looking up at him. She wasn't going to take silence. She had to have an answer, deserved an answer. Emily deserved to know that the world she knew was gone so she could move on to the new one.

"No, sweetheart, she's not. I'm sorry."

She didn't cry, just batted her deep brown eyes up at him like she already knew, but wanted someone to confirm it. There was exhaustion to her expression, to her body, that set in the second Sam finished his sentence and he understood that feeling. Everything was going to be different from that point on.

Emily couldn't pretend that Mama was on vacation or off in California shooting pictures for a magazine or in Africa working with starving children. Those were lies Sam had told to various and sundry teachers during his childhood. Much easier to tell those fantasies about a mother he never knew than to admit he didn't have one. The truth was out. She'd said it. Sam had confirmed it. The truth sucked ass.

"Emily, if you want to talk about your mom, you can always talk to me or your Dad or even Uncle Bobby. If you're sad about it, you don't have to keep it in."

Emily's response was to turn back toward the car and stroke the paint again.

Where was Dean? Sam could call him or text him and get him out here to figure out how to deal with this without breaking this little girl even more. Dean was the anointed Lord God King of not breaking four year olds in two. He knew what to say and what to do, so Dean should be the one out here.

But he wasn't here now, and the now had to be addressed, so Sam took the only option that seemed workable.

"Guess who I talked to this morning?" Sam didn't wait for Emily to respond, just dove right in. "Your friend Ariel."

That familiar name got Emily's attention. "I like Miss Ariel. She lets me paint on the wall."

"Right. Ariel's great." Sam reached out to put one hand on Emily's back and she didn't move away. The little girl leaned back against him, taking the comfort. "She said once we're settled, she'll come visit."

"I miss her."

Her voice was weary, exhausted. Saying goodbye to your life was tiring business.

"Hey, why don't we go back to the house and you can draw her a picture? I'll help you write her a letter if you want and we'll mail it to her. Would you like that?"

She didn't answer, just nodded her head like that was all she could muster. Sam rose from the ground and dusted himself off. Slipping both hands under her arms, he lifted her up to carry her with him. She was carrying enough and so he was going to carry her for a while.

Sam headed back toward Bobby's place, Emily's head resting on his shoulder and an off-balance puppy trailing behind.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Chapter 3

By – Suz Mc

"You get it here tomorrow morning and I can probably turn it around in three days if the parts are available."

Dean paced while he talked, going through the modifications in his head. Bobby wasn't kidding. His buddy had a serious hard on for speed and hadn't even blinked when Dean quoted him an outrageous price to rev up his GTO. This wouldn't be like work at all. Felt a little like cheating on a girlfriend, but definitely not work.

"Dude, after I'm done, the only way you'll get caught is if you stop. Yeah, guarantee it."

Both of them had been careful to skirt discussions about their line of work. Hunters weren't hard to spot when you were one and Winchesters were exactly anonymous either. But it was smarter to use the don't ask don't tell policy at first. The guy on the phone liked talking about his car and that kept personal business personal.

Dean looked out the window at his own perfect set of wheels and felt the brief irrational twinge that she was going to be pissed when he stuck his hands under that GTO's hood. He'd have to get her some new floor mats and a serious wax job to stay in her good graces.

In the middle of Dean's car-as-perfect-girlfriend fantasy and listening to extra tweaking instructions from the guy on the phone, Dean caught sight of Sam coming up fast from the junkyard. Emily was in his arms and Sam had lengthened his strides to cover more ground.

"Gotta go, man. See you tomorrow."

Dean snapped the phone shut and headed toward the front door. Sam was rounding the corner of the house and Dean could see him as he passed by each window. He was talking to Emily, but she was still and quiet, nothing like she'd been when she left with Sam to go looking for the Porsche.

Sam beat him to the door and shoved it open with one hand while he set Emily on her feet in the living room. Something heavy had just happened and Dean crouched down in front of her, trying to make contact. The bright eyes and babble were gone, replaced by that sad wary look she wore in the first days they were together.

He took one of her hands in his and she just looked back at him without saying a word. "Something wrong, Cutie Pie?" What he got was more silence and that deep, sad look that shouldn't be in her eyes ever. "Sam? What happened?"

"Later." Sam's voice was almost a whisper and he had a troubled look on his face that made all of Dean's senses tense up.

"My mama's never coming back and I'm gonna color." It came out in a flat whisper and she pulled her hand away while she spoke.

"Okay. You go and I'll be up in a minute." Dean let her go without forcing anymore conversation. Emily was a different little girl, walking up the stairs and looking at her shoes, than she'd been when she'd waved around a sucker and told him about her morning with Bobby. He waited as she pulled herself up the stairs and out of earshot before turning on Sam.

"What the hell happened out there?!"

Sam's face looked like he'd been slapped around a bit by whatever went on in the junkyard and he looked around Dean to be sure Emily was out of the way before answering.

"She found a wreck, a red convertible, and it was like her mother's car." Sam sank down onto the sofa, avoiding Dean's glare. "It just stirred up those memories for her, Dean."

"So what's this 'my mama's never coming back' business? Did you tell her that?" Dean wasn't sitting. He was too bothered, too pissed. He wasn't exactly sure what he was pissed at. Sam. His own stupidity at thinking Emily was just going to fold into his life and never mourn at all. His inadequate ability to fix any of this at all.

"No, Dean," Sam said, looking up but then away. "Well, yes, but—"

"Why the hell would you say something like that to her? We're supposed to keep her mind off that bar-b-que nightmare, Sam! What were you thinking?!"

"Wait a minute, Dean!" Sam's tone took on a less apologetic tone. "You think I just blurted that out? I'm not a sadist who likes to hurt little kids, Dean. You need to listen so you can help her."

Dean forced down his frustration and took a seat. "Okay. What happened?"

"Like I said, she found the car and it made her think about Calley. Emily said, 'My mama's never coming back, is she?' and it wasn't like it was a real question, ya' know? She put it all together, maybe for the first time. She knows her old life is gone and she's going to have to grieve for it a bit, I think."

"Damn." Dean felt a wave of pain rise up in his chest, covering up the pointless anger he'd directed toward his brother.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "It just caught me by surprise and I hope it was the right thing to confirm it for her."

"You did the right thing and I'm sorry I jumped down your throat," Dean said, resting his head against the back of his chair. "One thing I want to do different than the way we grew up is not lie to her. If she asks, I want to tell her the truth. She deserves that."

"She's lucky you're her dad. This is rough terrain to map out." Sam got out of his chair and headed back toward the door. "I'm going back to get the parts Bobby needed."

"Okay. I'm going to go upstairs and try not to completely screw this up." Sam was leaving but before he got out the door, Dean called out to him. "Wait, just out of curiosity, what kind of car was it?"

"Red Beamer convertible."

"No kiddin'? BMW, huh?"

"Yeah. Emily told me about riding in it when Calley took her and her friend out for her birthday," Sam said, holding onto the doorframe. "Ask her to tell you about it. Might help for her to think about those good memories."

"Maybe."

Dean closed his eyes once more, running through all of the dad-like things he could say and deciding none would apply. Getting in touch with his weird parenting experiences with Sam wasn't going to help. What he needed was to tap into what he remembered about being four and motherless with a clueless father. Those images were still burned into his mind, those feelings never very far away in the past weeks. Those memories were the ones that would get him where he needed to be for Emily. And they still stung, even with thirty years of space stretched out between then and now. Emily's were raw and alive. He remembered that feeling, too, and he knew what was coming.

The door closed behind Sam and Dean pulled himself out of the chair to head upstairs.

**

"You get lost, boy?" Bobby was standing in a dusty haze waiting for Sam as he made his way back from the junkyard.

Sam got close enough to toss the bag full of parts into Bobby's waiting hands. They were dusty where he'd dropped them in the dirt to go looking for Emily, but they'd clean up.

"Sorry, got sidetracked." Sam shot a glance toward the upstairs window where Emily was coloring and trying to work through grown up trauma with a four year old mind and a few crayons.

"I heard," Bobby said, opening up the bag and blowing away some of the dust. "Grief can turn on a dime, especially for a kid." Bobby examined the part, appearing to mull something over in his head. "Sam, you up for a job?"

"A work job or a hunter job?"

Much as their lives were heading in another direction, if felt good to hear that familiar anchor of "hunter" in a sentence. It was known. He could do that and do it well and even though he wanted to help Dean build a new life for Emily that was marginally normal, there was always going to be a hunt and he wanted it to be that way.

"I think there's something going on over at Block Party needs lookin' into." Bobby reclined back against a wreck and plopped the baggie on the hood. "My friend, Ray -- you remember, Camden's younger brother?" Bobby waited for Sam to nod then went forward. "Well he says there's something weird going on in one of the legs of the maze. People getting electric shocks."

"Maybe a frayed wire in the lighting touching the metal? Not exactly supernatural, Bobby."

"No, no wiring problem. He had people start complaining about a week after Camden rearranged the maze. It's just in a couple of legs of the maze and it's only adults that feel the shock, no kids."

"Okay, I'll go over there, but why didn't you just check it out?"

"Well, see, Ray don't know about my little sideline job and it makes for better neighbors if he doesn't. I just told him I knew somebody who has an interest in unexplainable things and since he'd ruled out everything else, he might want to consider another option."

"So you get to stay normal, just with weirdo friends."

"Pretty much."

"Okay." Sam started walking back toward the house, Bobby falling in behind. "Bobby, is Camden still, well, like he was when Dean and I were kids?"

"Yeah, ole Camden is still like that. He'll be glad to see you again." They had reached the door and Bobby handed the bag full of expensive car parts back to Sam. "Ray's got a buyer for these. Take 'em with you."

"Sure," he said, pulling the front door open wide. "Oh, can I borrow your car? I have a feeling Dean might need to take Emily for a ride." Going for a ride in his girlfriend was generally Dean's solution to any bad mood and Emily was rapidly developing a riding addiction.

"Sure thing." Bobby fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them over. Bobby wasn't commenting much on the situation, just letting them find their way. It was one of Bobby's better qualities, that sitting in the background until he was needed thing. Sam envied Bobby's sense of when to open up and when to shut up.

"I'm going to tell Dean then I'll head out." Sam made his way up the stairs, devoting some side space in his brain to thinking through options for unexplained electric shocks in junkyards.

***

It felt like spying on her to just hang out in the hallway and watch, but Dean elected to hold onto his position outside of Emily's room. She was oblivious to anything but the paper underneath the crayon pinched tightly in her hand. Dean needed to watch her for a while, to study this new storm that was building inside his child. Normally, Emily stretched out across her bed and lost herself in coloring and drawing. Sometimes she smiled. Sometimes she concentrated so hard that she would hold a piece of her lip under her teeth. Even then, Emily relaxed in her work, becoming part of the fairies and princesses she seemed to favor in her coloring books.

This was different. She wasn't easing into the scene in front of her, she was attacking it. Emily was perched on her knees, using her whole body to shove the colors into the page. There was no sugary, happy Disney scene spread out on the paper. From his vantage point, Dean could make out stick figures scribbled on the large white sketch pad Sam had brought home for her yesterday when he'd made a grocery run. There were only two people on the page, the largest had wild swirls of bright yellow hair and the other was a smaller figure with brown curls. They were holding hands. He wasn't even shocked to see the people surrounded by Emily's ever present flames.

He didn't exist on that page. That page was about Emily and her mother. The little girl hunched over the paper, creating more flames to fill in the blank spots. The harder she pressed the crayons, the closer she moved her face to the surface, like it was sucking her down into the page, making her body part of the picture.

Dean inched closer, hanging just outside the doorway, when Emily suddenly tossed the red crayon to the floor and snatched up a black one from the pile scattered over the bed. She didn't hold it lightly in her hand like a brush or pencil, she wrapped her fist around it like it was a knife and jabbed it hard against the paper, holding it there. Round strokes of black circled over the flames and people, getting heavier and heavier, covering the page with globs of crayon-made smoke. The smooth heavy motions became violent stabs at the paper, at the memory of the day flames and smoke killed her old life.

Emily was grunting with the force of those movements, hair falling down around her face, fury oozing out of her tiny body. The color snapped in her hand under the force of her grip and she threw it against the wall. That motion, that release, ignited the little girl's anger and she exploded against the pages, snatching them up and tearing them to shreds. Breathing in heavily laden gasps, Emily destroyed her drawing and flung the confetti around the room.

She was caught up in the frenzy of anger that opened up inside her and began breaking the crayons in two and throwing them off the bed and onto the floor. She was screaming now. "I hate you! I hate you!" was punctuated with nonverbal sounds of anger that were free and unedited.

Dean stayed rooted to his spot. Every muscle in his body wanted to rush into the room and grab her up to stop this descent into misery, but he stayed still. His knuckles went white against the doorframe as he held himself in place and out of her personal breakdown.

The paper and broken crayons littered the floor and Emily leapt off the bed to stomp them into submission.

"Mean stupid black smoke monster! Hate you!" Her foot came down hard on more fragments of color and she ground her heel over it to smash it into the floor. "Killed my mama! Just die! Die! Die!"

It was a desperate battle between Emily, her memories, and the broken pieces of her coloring box. She stomped and screamed at an enemy that she couldn't face and couldn't remember defeating. Emily fought back with kicks and words as she broke the crayons into tiny pieces under her feet.

"Dean?" Sam was at his elbow, a disturbed look in his eyes. He didn't understand why Emily was in that room coming unglued and her dad was standing outside letting it play out.

Dean stayed silent, giving Sam a short look then turning back to the swirling fit of anger that his daughter had become.

"Why are you just standing there?" Sam gave him a shove and when Dean didn't move, Sam tried to push past him into the room where Emily's screaming and stomping drowned out everything else.

Dean stopped Sam's progress with a firm grip on his arm. Dean didn't yell, just kept his voice low and level in contrast to the harsh biting sound of Emily's tirade. "Not yet. She needs this."

Handfuls of the Crayola twenty-four pack were sailing through the air, pinging into the windows and walls. Emily's voice was becoming hoarse and rough as she yelled louder at an enemy that wouldn't come out to face her.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks so much to everyone who takes time to review. I think sometimes we get so caught up in reading as much fanfic as we can (and I am so guilty!) that we forget that writers desperately wait for reviews and feedback to know if their baby is being received, if people are getting what you're trying to put out there. Long, thought out reviews are just fantastic but even a short line or two to say you liked it, what you liked, and that you're comin' back are super. And if you have any critique, by all means, lay it on me. _

_As always, thanks to Mai - the shizz of betas -- and Kate who always lets me know if what's in my head is coming out in the story. MWAH! _

_On with the show.....  
_

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Chapter 4

By: Suz Mc

Dean's stone face baffled his brother. All Sam wanted to do was get into that room and make this all stop. Emily's fury was exploding around her as she screeched out words so angry that they no longer made sense. It was big and loud and too much for her little body.

But Dean was the father here. He called the shots. If it had been Dean out in that junkyard facing Emily's questions and heartbreak, maybe she wouldn't be caught up in the tantrum. If this had been bottled up inside her, no wonder her dreams where terrifying. It had been fighting its way out and here it was.

She was crying now, long streaks of tears flooding down her bright red cheeks. Her foot came down hard on one of the chunks of color and it rolled beneath one pink sneaker to send her feet flying out from under her. The thud rumbled under their feet when her backside hit the floor and the light bulb in her lamp exploded in a brilliant flash of angry light.

The sudden realization struck Sam as the fragments of glass piled up on the nightstand. Emily's fury had done that. It wasn't because she was threatened or frightened. She was angry and that anger had been enough to make the light so bright and hot that it broke glass.

Good God.

There was a slight breeze as Dean moved past Sam's shoulder and rushed into the room to kneel in front of Emily. She was sobbing and gasping for air, shaking against the violent emotions.

"Talk to me, Emily." He didn't move to hold her, just let her live in the moment so she could let it out.

"That thing. Black smoke monster. Burned mama up. Hurt me!" Choppy bursts of words punched out of her mouth like she had to spit them out fast.

"I know."

"That Lindsey. Hate her guts! Said--she said—"

Her words broke into the rapid fire hiccups you get when you're a kid and you cry so hard there's no room for air.

"Tell me. What did she say?" Dean's voice was calm and still, soaking up all of Emily's rage. He seemed to steady the entire room with the anchor of his body on the floor in front of one furious broken child. Dean knew what to do. Always did know what to do for other people.

Dean had been that child and Sam couldn't help but wonder if a four year old Dean had raged this same way against the cruelty that broke his world apart all those years ago. Maybe he had. Maybe Dean had stomped and yelled in front of John Winchester on the carpet of some ratty motel room while baby brother had lain on the bed without a clue as to what had happened. Maybe that Dean was here now, comforting himself in some small way.

Emily grasped the spot on her left arm that was mangled by the fire before her weirdo heavenly grandpa had healed it. "Squeezed me—hurt me—said don't talk—burn eyes out—want her to cry--hate her!"

"You have every right to be mad as hell. Be mad, Emily."

"HATE THEM! MAKE THEM HURT AND BURN AND DIE!!!!"

The words faded off into a wild guttural scream up into the air.

Burn. It made a cold spot leak into Sam's chest to hear her say it with such a furious punch behind it.

Emily's body was trembling with the force of furious screaming and Dean's hand reached out to grab her and yank her close to his chest. Sam watched as the little girl briefly fought against the embrace and Dean held her with a fierce grip. She gave into the touch in seconds, latching onto Dean with arms and legs in a panicked attempt to hold onto him. It was like a drowning person clinging so hard to her rescuer that they could easily be dragged under together.

"It's okay, baby. Let it out." He was rocking her now, slowly back and forth in time with the sounds of her sobbing.

"Kill--them!"

"They're gone. I swear."

"Want—my—mama!"

"I know."

"Want—to—go—home!"

"I'm so sorry. I love you."

Sam didn't want to be watching this, but it felt like a betrayal, an abandonment to leave them. They were his family. They needed him to guard the door from any threat while they were vulnerable. It wasn't a rational motivation but it was his job at the moment. He kept his place there, watching Emily grieve and beg and Dean fight to stay calm and soothe Emily's rage. Dean's voice could do it but his eyes couldn't hold in the tear that ran down his face when the little girl's hand slid under his sleeve, grabbing for the fiery handprint on his flesh.

"Don't—leave me—please—don't." She was running out of air and energy and her body went limp, no fight or anger left to move her.

One arm closed tightly around Emily's back and Dean flattened his own hand over hers, pressing it harder against the mark. He got to his feet, kicking broken crayons out of the way so he could move around the room and rock her back to calm.

"I'm not leaving you, ever. You don't have to be afraid. I'm here."

As the storm passed, Sam quietly reached in and pulled the door shut. They'd be okay for now.

***

"Did you see that? Can't you see how much pain she's in?"

John Winchester knew one thing. He'd always had a weak spot for a blonde. The first time he laid eyes on Mary, all golden and brilliant, he knew he'd packed his balls away in favor of her wishes. She'd asked him to take her away and he'd tried, just because she'd asked. Shouldn't have stopped under that bridge, though. Should have kept going and driven them off into the sunset and maybe it would have all been Disney and apple pie.

"I know you care about her. I know it!" Her voice was more agitated and less plaintive than the last time she'd followed him. "You wouldn't be watching if you didn't."

Watching. He'd avoided it since he'd gotten here. Even a newbie in paradise had sense enough to know peering down at what you left behind was a bad idea. They warned you when you arrived. Your time on that side of the veil was over, but they weren't cruel about it. The ones who'd been patiently waiting for you to show up just embraced you and tried to guide you into the other state of being.

But unlike his first shot at the afterlife of the damned, you had choices here. You couldn't go wandering down back to earth without being gifted with the celestial whammy, but you could look if you wanted. The delightfully invisible powers in charge of this joint were even kind enough to offer comfy viewing areas where you could perch in the perfect setting of your choosing to spy on the human beings you'd left behind. Nice of them.

Even if it was a bad, bad idea.

John shoved himself off the rough mountainside he'd selected as his own view master. He'd let her pester him into this bullshit. He walked past her, trying to use silence as his answer to her relentless nagging.

"How can you just walk away from this when you can do something to help her?"

She was following him now and he was kind of impressed with her ability to keep up. He moved a bit faster, taking care to watch his step as he fit his wide boots down the narrow trail. You certainly couldn't die from a fall here, but it would still hurt. The hurt in his chest was enough to handle at the moment. That was the bad part of this bad idea of watching.

Emily's violent tirade could have been a mirror of one he rode out with his own four year old son. Dean's fragile hold on his emotions had held until Christmas Eve. He'd been the brave big brother until his mind and body refused to hold it in anymore. The cool breeze biting against John's face felt the same as that night he'd chased Dean across a dismal hotel parking lot and dragged his son back to their room so he could kick and scream until he passed out from the effort. A smashed artificial Christmas tree took the place of shredded paper and snapped crayons. It went on for months and months. The fury suddenly exploding out of Dean's little body and the nightmares full of fire that jolted him awake.

John had avoided looking at the dark circles smeared underneath his little boy's eyes. They were a constant reminder of his own inability to fix anything, including himself. Maybe Dean understood things a little better now. Now that he was the dad trying to explain the unexplainable. Trying to heal wounds that couldn't be healed.

"Damn you, John! Answer me!"

Her grip was strong and when she grabbed at his sleeve it took all of his strength to keep them from tumbling down the mountainside. It put him face to face with her as they both grappled to stay upright. John had been able to avoid looking her in the eye until now which was the last line of defense. That was pretty much shot to hell after he steadied her and looked down into her face.

Damn blondes.

"I've used up my hall pass this time, so I'm not sure what you expect me to do, sweetheart."

He knew he should have kept this conversation one sided so she'd get over this notion that he could reach down and suddenly scoop out Emily's pain so she'd be free. The second he started talking, he knew he was a goner.

"You can do something. I know you can." She grabbed his hand and any hope he had of unpacking his nuts went out the window. "Just give her some peace. Just for tonight. Please?"

Pretty please with sugar on top. That's what she was really saying with that desperate look, clinging to his hand and pleading for one night of rest for a little girl. She knew the score. Knew that once that angel had given him the juice to walk around on the planet, the residuals were there to stay. No, he couldn't beam down to Singer Salvage and have a beer, but there were other options.

"One night isn't going to make a difference." John didn't pull his hand away, just held it still so she could hold on. She seemed to need it right now. "We need to stay out of this."

"She's just a baby and she's so scared. If I could do it, I would."

It was a huge lie that there wasn't crying in Heaven. Maybe not in baseball, but there was definitely crying here. She was weeping those mother's tears and pressed his hand against her cheek so he had to feel them, too. Then she was on her knees, holding his hand in her small ones like she was trying to kiss his ring or something equally subservient.

"Please, I'm begging you! She's your granddaughter and you held her in your arms. You took her wound away and I know you want to help. I'll do anything. I won't bother you again, I swear. Just this once." She clung to his hand, refusing to let go until she'd sucked all of his defenses dry.

"Get up." He kept his voice harsh and annoyed while he gently lifted her to her feet. "I'll do it. Once."

Her blonde hair spread out under his chin and she hugged him in relief. He let her stay there for a while, understanding that he should have just said yes hours ago and saved them both the drama.

"Thank you, John. I knew you'd do this for her." She gasped out a little hiccupping sob as he pulled her away and started them back down the path.

"Just once. I mean it."

And he did mean it. No amount of blonde power or tragic memory of his own failed fathering was going to get him to break that promise. One night then it was back to business as usual. The living were going to have to handle the living and the blonde would have to get with the program.

But Calley wasn't crying anymore and that made the trek down the mountain a great deal more pleasant than the hike upward as she'd trailed him begging and pleading the entire way.

"Now I want something from you in return, girl." He kept his eyes focused on the trail, knowing they didn't have to keep walking. He could just imagine them back in the corner he called home, but that would take away the precious time he needed to come up with a cover story.

"Anything." Calley's voice was hopeful now, like he'd taken a load of bricks off her back.

"Don't tell Mary."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Wow, thanks so much for the reviews, y'all. I wasn't going to post until next week but I got busy and here it is. The more people feed me, the more it makes me scribble. Thanks to Kate and Mai. Luv ya!

Now, let's see what those boys are up to.

***************************8

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 5

By: Suz Mc

Bobby's car door creaked open with a rusty squeak. To get the heavily off balanced door to close on the Charger, Sam had to slam it three times, adding his foot to the last push. For years Dean had offered to take any decent, salvageable wreck Bobby could get his hands on and rebuild him a "non-butt ugly ride", but Bobby's desire to be off the radar drew him to rusty, primer-coated car bodies with kick ass engines hidden under the hood. Kind of like Bobby's own personal vibe of sharp as a tack mind stashed under a greasy trucker cap.

The Block Party Salvage Yard was much different than Bobby's place. Bobby's place was the chaotic pile of wrecks and wobbly stacks of parts you expected in a dead car graveyard. Not Block Party. Ray and Camden Jacks had an orderly place. There was a nice office out front with a couple of flower pots by the door, parking area to the side, and the salvage yard was tucked away behind a high wooden fence. The Jacks were one anal bunch when it came to organizing junk car parts. The maze was off to the left of the yard. Large towers of crushed car blocks loomed up from the walls, adorned with brightly colored flags that blew in the breeze.

Sam took a moment to take in the mammoth structure that had more than doubled since he and Dean were kids. A smile broke happily across his face as he let one of the few happy childhood memories he held play through his head. They'd come here every time they were at Bobby's. Most of the time, Bobby just piled them in the car and brought them before their dad even knew they were gone. John Winchester wouldn't have time for stupid things like letting his kids play, but Bobby would steal them and take the bitching and growling when they got back.

"Hey there!"

Sam turned toward the sound and caught sight of a large man with a gray braid hanging down his back heading his way. He was much older now and Sam finally realized that Camden and Bobby were about the same age. He'd seemed much younger, like one of the kids, when Sam had seen him last.

"Camden?! Is that you?!" Sam walked toward the man, who was grinning at him like this visit was the highlight of his day.

"That's my name, don't wear it out." Camden laughed out loud at his own joke, his large stomach shaking up and down under a tie-dyed t-shirt. "What's your name?"

Of course, Camden didn't know him. Sam had been ten years old the last time he'd been here. Camden was basically the same, just gray and chunkier, and the guy's bright, happy welcome was still the same.

"It's Sam—Sammy Winchester, Camden. Bobby used to bring me and my brother Dean here when we were little." He'd been "Sammy" the last time he'd been here. Not serious, war torn Sam. He hoped that name would help Camden place him.

Camden Jacks was still smiling at him and it felt good to be welcomed like that in a world that generally held him in marginal esteem. The older man looked him over carefully, as if reaching back in his own memory to find Sam's face. When he made the connection, Camden took two quick steps forward and grabbed Sam in a warm bear hug.

"I remember you Sammy!" Camden used his considerable bulk to lift Sam off his feet while hugging him tightly around his arms. "You were a little biddy guy. You got big since we played."

Being hugged up by a grown man was awkward at best, but Sam let Camden have his customary greeting. Camden hugged everybody and he meant it. "Ate my Wheaties, Camden. " Sam felt his feet settle gently on the ground as Camden released him and he sucked in a much needed breath.

The big man looked past Sam. "Where's your brother? Did he get big, too?"

Camden's hand stayed on Sam's shoulder, like they were both ten year old boys meeting up on the baseball field for a game. Somehow it wasn't weird at all. Camden was a kid in every way that counted. His body may be a grown man on the way to social security, but his mind and soul were still that of a little boy.

Sam looped his arm over Camden's shoulder and turned them toward the office. "Dean's over at Bobby's with his little girl and yes, he got big, too."

"Dang, I wish everybody would quit getting big. People don't want to play anymore when they get big." They took a few steps toward the office, and Camden latched onto what Sam had said. "Oh yeah! Bobby told me Dean was that little girl's daddy. We had fun. She likes blowpops."

"Say, Camden, is Ray around anywhere? I need to talk to him about the little problem you've been having in the maze."

Camden stopped so quickly dust billowed up around his feet. "Really?! Are you gonna fix it?! That's awesome! Thank you!" Another hug lifted Sam off his feet.

"Hope so, dude," Sam said as Camden patted his back. "But you've gotta' let me down, okay?"

"Oh, sorry." Camden let go of Sam more quickly this time, looking a touch embarrassed. "Ray says I need to quit picking up grownups 'cuz most of 'em don't like it. And he says I'm not supposed to hug strangers. Sometimes I just forget."

It was hard not to think of Camden as a little kid, no matter what packaging he was housed in now. Sam smiled warmly back at the man's guilty pout and said, "I don't mind, Camden, but maybe you should ask the next guy first so you don't surprise him, okay?"

Camden's expression brightened once again. "That's smart, Sammy. I'll do that." He used one big hand to smooth Sam's rumpled shirt. "Ray's inside doing boring things. He's a drag when he's doing bills and stuff. You go in and he'll tell you all about people getting' popped out in the maze. I didn't get popped, but the way those people hollered it must have hurt. I don't want anybody to get hurt, cuz they won't wanna come play anymore."

Sam put his hand on the doorknob and pulled it open. "I hope I can figure it out, Cam. See you later."

"Okay." The sound of tires crunching over gravel drew Camden's attention toward a car filled with kids and he was heading off toward the lot to show them where to park. "Hey! Glad you came!" He trotted off toward the lot to guide what appeared to be regulars into the maze.

The man inside the office was nothing like the jovial, aging hippy that had hugged Sam in the parking lot. Ray Jacks was hunched over in front of his computer screen, telephone pinched between his shoulder and ear. He was a wiry, little man with a dark tan from too much time spent outdoors and a thinning brown buzz cut. Ray looked up sharply as Sam came in and waved him over to a chair.

Sam dangled the baggie of Porsche parts and Ray replaced his worried scowl with a half smile as he reached out to grab them.

"You won't believe what just showed up in my hands, man, and they are perfect. PayPal me and I'll ship 'em out in the a.m. Yeah, glad we could help you out, man, and if you find that Corvair hardtop, call me. Sure." Ray hung up the line and hauled himself out from behind the desk, ignoring the sound of his knees popping. "Hey, Sam. Damnit, boy, you grew up. Good to see you."

Sam grabbed Ray's hand and pumped it a couple of times. "Hi, Ray. Good to see you, too."

The older man grabbed a well worn office chair and rolled it over to sit in front of Sam. "You see Camden out there?"

"Yeah. He's still exactly like I remembered."

"Few constants in the world, but thank God my brother's one of 'em." Ray gave Sam a hard once over, the kind of appraisal you get from no nonsense men who aren't sure if you are, too. "So, Bobby says you kinda dabble in, uh…in things that, uh--"Ray couldn't seem to wrap his brain around the words for something he clearly had no experience describing.

Ray was giving him that look they always got. That look that was half desperate enough to try anything and half freaked out that they were about to admit the other side was real.

"Ray, just tell me what's going on." Sam leaned forward, letting Ray know that he wasn't giving any judgments.

"This is gonna sound crazy."

"I doubt it."

Ray rubbed a hand through his brushy crew cut. "'Bout six weeks ago, people started saying they were getting shocked walking through two rows in the middle of the maze. Started out just a pop every now and then. I thought maybe it was a loose wire or something brushing the metal or static electricity but it wasn't. I stood smack in the middle of the row, feet on the dirt and something tagged me so hard it set tears in my eyes, Sam. Started out just random then got worse and worse. I finally shut down that section when three guys got run out of there like they were scalded dogs."

"Is it any special time this happens?"

"Any time is fair game."

"Any particular type of victim."

"Men and women but never kids. Oh, and whatever it is doesn't bother Camden." Ray had been carrying on the discussion with as much rational detail as he could muster, trying to make something weird seem normal. "Look, Sam, I'm not sure I buy this aliens or ghost shit but—"

The Freak Eye. That's what Ray was giving him. Sure, he had a problem with no explanation that matched up with normal but saddling up with the Ghost Busters was just this side of crazy. Sam gave up convincing civilians long ago. They'd either come around when they came face to face with their personal boogey man or wait till it was done and then deny deny deny. Wasting time focusing on nonbelievers was unproductive.

"Ray, I need to go out to the maze but I'll wait till these last people leave. If you've got any history on the property, why don't you let me review it and see if anything jumps out?" Sam got to his feet and tried to lighten Ray's mood just a bit. "Oh, and I do know one thing it's not."

"What?" Ray looked up with just a bit of relief.

"ET. No such thing as aliens."

Ray huffed out a disgusted laugh. "Well, damn, son, that's a relief. I might be able to stomach Casper but not some fucking alien." The man turned away and started digging through a file cabinet. Facing down into the rows of manila file folders and thumbing through the paper, his tone changed. "This maze is everything to my brother, Sam. It's his whole world. If this thing gets out of control, if we can't make this go away, I may have to shut it down and it'll break him."

Sam took the file Ray offered and he understood the look in his eyes. Just recently Dean's whole world had been hanging by a thread and Sam had been his brother's champion in that fight. That's what brother's did only Ray didn't have the right tools and know how to handle this for Camden.

"Let me see what I can figure out, Ray." Sam tucked the file under his arm and headed toward the door.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to spook Cam too much. He's, well, you know he's like a little kid. Hell, he sleeps with the bathroom light on and this talk about ghosts and go bump in the night shit's gonna scare him."

"No problem."

Ray looked relieved to know Sam understood how Camden had to be handled in the middle of all this and went back to his desk.

Sam went looking for the trouble, once again. Gravel crunched under his shoes as he followed a familiar path back to the Block Party Maze. He decided to wander through the maze like everybody else only everybody else didn't have a modified Walkman EMF to sweep their path. The weird ball of lights and wires flashed in his hand and he had to admit that Dean's handiwork was the best meter he'd ever used. Ugly as hell, but it worked when Sam's high tech version petered out. Sam had adopted this supernatural arts and crafts project of Dean's while his brother was buried and Dean had let him keep it, no questions asked, when he came back.

He hit a dead end and turned around to retrace his steps. Nothing. No more evidence of anything other than a few gum wrappers tossed out by kids who'd hit the same road block. Heading back out toward the next pathway, Sam waved the EMF at flattened wrecks from every decade. Sometimes a twisted rearview mirror caught the sunset and flashed as he walked by. Camden's loud, happy voice was saying "Good bye" to the last people leaving the maze for the day. This was a good place and it needed to stay that way.

The next turn was blocked off by a makeshift gate made from an old piece of cyclone fencing. Sam twisted open the wire closure and stepped inside. The second Sam set foot beyond the gate, the meter jumped to life, rattling his hand.

"What the hell?!"

The temperature dropped hard and fast the further he walked down the pathway. There was no spike in the humming of the machine in his hand, just constant flashing and warning signaling that the whole area was alive with some unseen upset.

"Okay, whoever you are, you just jumped right out of the hunter's handbook, didn't you?"

Sam reached the back of the space where it made a sharp turn to the right and a sudden spark of light flashed in the flattened chrome bumper of an old Volkswagen Beetle.

"Hello?"

The sudden shock of pain that bit into Sam's neck caught him off guard. Then there was another and another. The electric barbs snapped against his neck over and over and he staggered back toward the gate, slapping at the pain stinging his skin over and over.

"Cut it out, damnit!"

Another flash of pain hit against the base of his throat, cutting off his air for a second and sending him to the ground. He'd come unprepared. No salt. No shotgun. No friggin' anything. Dean was going to ride his ass about it without mercy. Just checking things out. How bad could it be? Stupid ass.

"Okay! I'm going!" He was on his knees now, crawling toward the gate, trying to keep the EMF in one hand and grab hold of the wall with the other. Another snapping hit to his back was his answer and the sharp pain skittered across his skin like fire. His breath smoked out in front of him like he was huffing in a meat locker. Only it was freakin' August going on September and hot as hell everywhere else in the yard except this spot.

He hit the gate with both hands, throwing himself out onto the gravel, one more shock biting his calf before he yanked it free. Sam kicked the gate shut with one foot and lay back against the ground, skin smarting at every contact point. The temp returned to normal and the attack stopped.

"Sam? You okay?" Ray was there, hands under Sam's shoulders to pull him to his feet. "Hurts like hell, don't it?"

"Yeah." Sam rubbed a hand over his neck, trying to stop the bright red pain throbbing under his skin.

"Come on back to the office. Ice helps." Ray started walking toward the office and Sam stepped in beside him. "So, is this your kind of thing, Sam?"

"No doubt—totally--like right out of--Spirit 101." Sam was catching his breath in between words, running over what he knew against what he didn't know about this particularly spiteful bitch of a spirit that had lit his flesh on fire.

"Can you get rid of it?" Ray's voice had a ring of disappointment and desperation to it, like he'd expected Sam to find some non-supernatural buried wire sabotaging the business instead of evidence that the boogey man existed and was living in their backyard.

"That's the hard part, Ray."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

So sorry about the delay, chicklets. Mama's been working, which I hate. G I'm wavin' HEY! to Kate who is always so supportive. Thanks for the reviews. I'm a review HO. Yeah, I said it. :-)

Enjoy

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Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Chapter 6

By: Suz Mc

It had taken hours and a long ride in the Impala, but Emily had begun to come back to herself in pieces after she and her crayons had melted all over the floor in her borrowed bedroom in her borrowed home. There was no other way to console her, no other way to pry her off of his chest other than a ride in the car. Truth be told, Dean hadn't wanted to put her down anyway. As long as she was riding around in his arms, she was safe. He'd walked around like that for an hour and a half, Emily clinging to him like the world was an ocean and her dad was the only floatation device left in existence. They'd toured the junkyard, carefully avoiding the stupid yuppie BMW that had ruined Emily's day. He'd sat on the couch, hoping she'd fall asleep. He'd offered her everything from a popsicle to a ham sandwich to lure her back down to the ground only to have that heartbreaking whimper come out of her throat because anywhere that wasn't around Dean's neck was terrifying.

The car did the trick. His car. Not the twisted imitation of her mother's car. Dean had wanted to smack himself for the time it took to remember what that sleek black nanny on wheels had been to him when he was four and falling to pieces. He'd shoved the seat all the way back, expecting to drive down the road with Emily still clutched between him and the steering wheel, only to have her immediately slide off of him and snuggle comfortably on the seat beside him. The road unwound in front of them, safe kids driving laws tossed out the window, as Emily sat in the front seat next to his leg. The steady, hypnotic hum of the Impala soaked upward through the upholstery like it always did, making everybody inside feel just a little more at ease than before the engine started.

Little by little, she loosened her death grip on his shirttail to play with the radio knobs. Emily's song choices stabbed a sharp pain through his temple, kinda like Sam's song choices, but he'd taken it without complaint. The breeze and scenery drew her head closer and closer to the window and soon she was talking again. Look at that dog, Daddy. How high is this bridge? Is that haybale just for one cow? Cows are pretty. Litter Quitters don't throw out trash on the road.

After a while, she was back to the little girl she'd been that morning. Laughing and babbling. One plate of mac and cheese, one movie, and one bath later she was ready for bed.

The bathroom was always soaking wet when Emily finished in the tub. She liked bubbles and she was messy. Dean made a mental note to get more tomorrow. When he walked into her bedroom, the worry took another bite out of his chest. She was standing at the window just staring out into the dark. A huge halogen light erected in the junkyard cast a glow through the window, shining on her still damp hair. Her face was intensely focused out the window as she twirled one finger around in circles.

Dean made it a point not to look out the window. He didn't have to look to know what she was doing. It was becoming a nightly calming ritual for her. That little finger drew designs with the light outside her window. A weird visual mantra created by a gifted four year old. Harmless.

He had to say it was harmless in his head. Here it was harmless. Here with these people who loved Emily it was harmless. Here, with people who knew she wasn't something to be afraid of, it was harmless.

"Ready for bed, Cutie Pie?"

He walked into the room slowly. Sometimes she'd jump if he didn't and his sole mission for the evening was to keep her mellow. So there would be no discussion of why Emily needed to stop creating electric light orchestras with her hands.

Emily turned toward him and for a few seconds her eyes were dark and sad, filled with thoughts and fears that shouldn't be there. For a few seconds, the corners of her mouth were turned down and a heavy pout formed on her lips. Then, it was replaced by a quick, bright smile as she turned her thoughts away from what was weighing her down and focused on his face. There was nothing like it. Knowing that the sight of him was enough to do that to her face.

"We need to say our prayers." She was kneeling beside her bed, hands pressed together, and head bowed. Usually, she did it silently in her head with her eyes shut in a tight pinch to concentrate on each and every word going through her mind.

Tonight was different. Emily's eyes were open wide, staring a hole through him, waiting for something. When he realized that the "we" included him, Dean complied, creaking down to his knees on the floor and assuming the position. He'd prayed about a week ago in the front seat of his car and gotten an answer. That praying was more like talking, more like begging. Not something you did with an audience. He'd done his asking in private and he'd done his thanking in private, too.

Satisfied that Daddy was getting with the program, Emily closed her eyes and began.

"Now I lay me down to sleep."

Not this one. _Oh, baby, please don't say this one. No talking about dying. Ever. Please._

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep."

Damn it. He knew what line was coming next. What idiot thought putting the notion in a kid's head that she'd die in the night was a friggin' good idea? He didn't want to hear her say it because he didn't want to think about it. Not ever.

"See me safely through the night and wake me with the morning light."

Evidently, Calley thought that old standby needed an edit, too, and Dean used his prayer time to throw a thank you in her direction. No thoughts of dying before bedtime. The more he found out about Calley through Emily, the more he liked her. Could have loved her, maybe. Well, not when he'd first met her because he wasn't fit for anyone back then. But if Calley was here now, now that they had a daughter, maybe they could have been a family. Maybe.

But Maybe was a total bitch who made his chest hurt.

Before Dean could move, Emily's voice kept going.

"God bless my Daddy and Uncle Sammy and Uncle Bobby and Miss Ellen and Mr. Jake and Miss Ariel and say hey to my Mama. Amen." There was a little satisfied nod at the end, like she'd accomplished a valuable task by keeping up her prayers and covering everybody with a blessing for the night. She'd covered her entire world, all the people who were left of it. Then, she opened her eyes and looked up at Dean. "Don't you want to make some God blesses?"

"I think you covered my list except for one," he said, feeling the smile break across his face. "God bless Emily." He hoped he would, prayed he would. "Now, under the covers, little girl."

Dean let her get into bed by herself for the first time since they'd been here. It was time to give it a try and it sucked that thoughts of this morning's disastrous trip down memory lane would probably make tonight a rough one. It had to be done, though. He couldn't sleep with her forever, no matter how badly he wanted to stay close to her, to be close to her when she woke up terrified and burning in her sleep. Crutches just helped you keep limping and she'd never be able to get on her feet if he didn't start weaning her now. It sucked.

When he pulled the covers up to her neck, Emily scooted over as far as she could go, trying to make room for him to get in beside her. Dean tucked Cinderella Barbie beneath the covers in his place and tapped the button on Emily's iPod to start her music playing quietly beside her.

She looked puzzled for a second, then a little scared. "You're not sleepin' in here?"

That little trembly voice nearly got him, but Dean bit down hard on the urge to put it off one more night. One more nights had turned into a week and would turn into a month or a year or ten if he didn't stop right now.

"I think you and the princess will be just fine." He perched on the side of the bed and wrapped one arm over Emily to pull her more toward the center of the bed. "If you need me, I'm right across the hall."

Her dark eyes darted toward the door as if to gauge the distance, imagining how long it would take to cover the space between her bed and his. Dean expected her to ask him to stay, to ask him why he was being such a mean bastard leaving her alone when he knew she was going to be scared, and to ask him if he was taking a night course in how to suck as a dad.

But she didn't.

"I'm sorry I got mad and broke all the colors." The look in her eyes was sorrowful, almost guilty. Emily really did think she'd done something that needed an apology. Maybe she thought that was why he was leaving her alone tonight in this bed, to punish her.

"Emily, you don't have to be sorry," he said, leaning down close to her forehead to plant a kiss. "Crayons are just things and things will never be as important as little girls." That seemed to unburden her and her features relaxed a bit. "How 'bout we go buy you new ones tomorrow? That ginormous box with four million colors with the sharpener on the back?"

Emily smiled and nodded happily at the idea of that huge box of crayons, then she was quiet for a few moments.

"I'll try to be good and not wake you up."

The little shaky voice was back, yanking at his insides again. "Waking up scared doesn't make you bad, sweetie, and you wake me up any time you need me. That's what daddies are for."

"Stay with me till I go to sleep?"

"Sure."

He lost track of time while watching Emily's eyelids close and her breathing settle while some weird Italian voice sang a song called "The Prayer" from the nightstand. She trusted him completely now. Her faith in his protection was true, knowing she could let go while he stood watch. She was innocent and perfect in the world and twice she'd been close to death. It had marked her, changed her in a way that would always set her apart. It had filled her up with fear and the anger that boiled over this morning in her violent tantrum. Even if she didn't have the name "demon" in her vocabulary yet, she knew monsters were real, that people could be evil and disgusting and your life could change from sunshine to a hail storm in a heartbeat.

Daddy couldn't do shit about that.

But at this moment, she was going to sleep, confident that no monster was getting through her daddy. Her dreams would be another story, though. Daddy couldn't do shit about that either, just try to comfort her after they attacked.

Dean waited for her breathing to settle into that deep steady rhythm then he waited some more before leaving her to wait.

***

Views at the Singer Estate were of the trailer park chic variety. Nothing tidy about Bobby's place, though Sam had to give Bobby credit for making the place a little safer when he heard they were coming with a kid in tow. He'd cut the grass around the house, cleared away most of the junk close to the place, and inside he'd lowered the height of most of the stacks of books to a non-lethal level if they fell over.

Sam liked sitting out here under the glare of a huge halogen light tacked to a telephone pole. Bobby's lawn chairs were probably older than Moses, but you didn't have to worry about spilling your beer on them or messing up any cushions. He'd pulled up a couple of extras in case Bobby came out or Dean was able to get Emily to bed and wanted a beer.

"How were things over at Ray's place?"

Bobby scraped his chair over the concrete and settled in with a Coke in his hand. Bobby's sudden sobriety a few years earlier was one of those subjects that never came up. Bobby must have had his reasons and they were his and if he wanted to spill it, he would. It didn't keep him from letting anyone else have a beer, which was nice because Winchesters liked beer.

"Got my ass tagged in the neck by whatever it is, but that's about it. Ray's given me the information on the property but it's clean. No violent or unexplained death. No sulfur. No nothing, except an EMF that nearly blew up in my hand." Sam took a deep draw from his bottle. The red marks on his neck had faded, but the memory of the pain was still there, making him reach up and rub the spot again.

"Need some help?"

"Gotta do some more research. If it's not the place it's a thing and that's going to be a problem."

"Considering they have about three thousand wrecks from all over the country making up that maze, this is gonna be one shit pile of a search."

"Thanks for the pep talk there Bobby. Bobby?"

Bobby had stopped mid-gulp, the mouthful of soft drink still held in his mouth. He finally swallowed, the lump going down hard in his throat. Sam followed Bobby's gaze up to the light glowing against a pitch black sky. Tiny streams of light were curling away from the bulb, dancing ribbons of light forming a delicate picture in the night. They started out slowly, gracefully, only lasting for quick bursts until they faded. Once the rhythm picked up pace, the colors stayed longer, letting you make out the abstract beauty of light being used as a crayon. Tiny bursts of brightness dotted around the edges like fireworks.

"Sam. What the hell?"

It was beautiful, actually. Sam wasn't surprised that Emily wanted to do it. Why wouldn't a little girl want to make something pretty to look at when she was so scared at night? He and Dean had seen it over and over, but it was Bobby's first time. Dean was going to have to stop this or there was going to be trouble.

"It's Emily."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah, this is nothing." Saying it out loud made it even more frightening. Sam had been twenty-five when he'd killed his first demon in a blood poisoned power rush. That was gone now, his tainted blood clean and the urge destroyed. He still had a few mind tricks and remnants of the surge were still strong enough to make themselves known when he touched Emily's hand. That old "it takes one to know one" bugaboo rang true between the two of them. Emily's power was different though, not an infection, not an infestation, but part of her. Sam never ever wanted that power again, but the thrill of it still called to him sometimes when he and Dean were in something over their heads and that power would be a neat trick to have in his goodie bag.

But Emily didn't remember what she'd done. All she knew now was that she could make pretty pictures with light and blow it up when she got really, really pissed.

"Has Dean told her to cut it out before someone who's not so accommodating gets wind of it?" Bobby's eyes were glued to Emily's self-calming mechanism as it grew larger and larger, curling into the night.

"No."

"Why the hell not? This is not a good thing, Sam."

"It's my fault. The first time she did it, it was with fireflies and I told Dean not to make her think he thought she was a freak. It touched a guilty nerve and now he won't say anything to her about it because—"

"He wants her to love him and not be scared of him."

The light show stopped suddenly. Emily must be in bed. "Yeah, he does and he can't stand the thought of making her feel bad when she's already hurting."

"What about fire?"

"I don't know. All we saw was what she did to the demon, but the money's on her being able to work with that medium, too. She just hasn't figured it out yet, but she's smart, Bobby. It won't take long."

"Damn."

"Yeah."

The door opened and Dean came up from behind the two of them. They quickly stifled the conversation.

"What's going on?" Dean crouched down beside Sam's cooler and fished out a long neck bottle.

"Nothin'," Bobby answered as he elected to keep quiet about what Emily had painted outside her bedroom window with light, darkness, and her own little fingers.

***


	7. Chapter 7

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Chapter 7

By: Suz Mc

Somehow, John knew he'd find her here in this apartment where it all started, or where it all ended. He crouched at the window, getting a feel for where Emily was and what she was feeling as she hid under the bed below the windowsill.

The letting go feeling of falling into her dream hadn't been difficult at all. Well, it got easy after he ran Calley off so he could concentrate. Normally, performance anxiety wasn't an issue for John Winchester, but this had less to do with body than mind and controlling mind couldn't be done with a hand wringing mom hovering over his shoulder. Calley split and he'd simply watched Dean ease the little girl into bed, then thought about what he was about to do and there he was. Simple enough. This angel juice he'd been infected with was turning out to be damn useful.

That black-eyed bitch was lurking at the doorway and Calley was pinned to the wall, screaming at her to get away from her baby. His connection wavered a bit as the déjà vu took a bite from his concentration.

"Come here, sweet little meat." The demon was moving closer, reaching under the bed to grab for Emily.

"MAMA!"

Her scream cut through the air and John yanked the window open.

"Stop!" He held out his hand, freezing the action. There was no more sound, no more movement. Calley's eyes were frozen open, wild and panicked in the moments before Emily would have set the demon on fire and ignited her mother's death pyre. He could see the expression of primal maternal fury on her face. She was ready to rip the wall down with her to get between that bitch and her child. If wishing were enough, she'd have made it.

The demon's black eyes were glistening with the thrill of rooting around under that bed to get her hands on Emily's arm. John grabbed the bedpost and shoved the frame forward, toppling the monster to the ground like a statue. He was in control now. Emily cowered in the stillness, body pulled tightly into a ball to block out this nightmare that had replayed over and over in her sleep.

"Hey, baby girl. It's okay."

He whispered to her and rested one hand on her back. The violent jerk that met his touch was heartbreaking. It wasn't like when he'd popped up in her path in the woods when she was running for her life. She'd recognized him from Sam's photograph. She'd run straight to him.

Not this time. This time, he was just another terrifying touch in the nightmare that came for her every night and Emily didn't dare to open her eyes and see what new monster was coming this time.

"Emily, it's me. Look up for me."

The little girl turned her head just slightly, venturing one cautious eye toward him. Her face was pale and frightened as she started to process the fact that the repetitive action of her dreams had come to a screeching halt.

"Run or she'll get you, too." Big brown eyes welled up with tears and they ran down her face. She was resigned to the fact that she couldn't get away, because she didn't get away any other night until Dean woke her out of her nightmares.

John felt the smile break across his face at Emily trying to save him from a demon. "Nobody's getting me or you tonight, Emily," he said, holding out his hands to her. "Let's get out of here."

She unfolded just a bit, beginning to take in the changes around her. Eyes focused fully on John's face, she stared hard and long up at him. "I know you. You're in Uncle Sammy's picture."

"That's right. I'm your grandpa, Emily." He wriggled his fingers at her again, hoping she'd take him up on his offer. But Emily still hesitated.

For the first time, John started to rethink his decision to blot out all of Emily's memories from that night at the farmhouse. If he'd left it alone, she'd know him and they'd be out of the bitch of a memory by now. Castiel had been pissed when he'd heard what John had done. Well, pissed in that controlled I'm-too-strong-for-anger way that was just too arrogant to be believed. John had heard ad nauseum about boundaries and using power wisely. It put him in mind of that boring cartoon hero speech about great power coming with great responsibility.

Yeah, but this was his grandchild and Castiel could go screw himself.

"Grandpa John?"

"That's right. Let's go."

Emily looked back around the room at the demon frozen on the floor, at her mother's tortured body stuck to the wall, then crawled close enough for John to get his hands under her arms and lift her up and out through the window. He pulled her close to his chest and walked away from the building toward the street, putting as much distance between them and the apartment as possible.

"She'll just follow us. Always does. No matter where I go."

The heartbreaking resignation to her fate made him hold her closer. This is what she bore every night. The powerlessness. The fear. The futility of resistance. No matter what she did or where she ran, the monster came and brought pain and death and would come back every night because Emily didn't have weapons to fight her off.

"No, she won't. She can't beat me here," he said, tipping up Emily's chin as he managed to change the time from night to day. "Here we're in charge."

"How?" She wanted to believe him, wanted it bad. Emily's fingers gripped his jacket tightly and she chewed on the corner of her lip as she thought through what he was saying. He'd seen Dean do that over and over, bite down on his lip while thoughts processed and lined up in his head. It made him hug her a little more tightly.

"Because this is your dream and we're going to have some fun. No more monster."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Really really?"

"Swear."

"Mama says it's not nice to swear."

The sun was bright overhead as they walked down the street and John let himself laugh out loud this time. "Well, how about I promise, then?"

"Promises are good if you keep 'em."

No shit, kid, he thought. He'd broken a lot of them. Promises spoken and unspoken. Promises to himself. Promises to his sons.

Not tonight.

"That's right, baby girl. We need to keep our promises."

"Where are we going?" Her voice was lighter now and she was looking around at the changing scenery.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Me and my daddy and Uncle Sammy ate pizza at a park. It was fun."

"The park it is."

The next step landed them in the park and once Emily's feet hit the grass she took off running toward a merry go round. With one quick leap she was firmly planted between the brightly colored railings and slapping her hands for him to hurry.

"Spin me!"

"Whatever you want, baby girl." He grabbed the rails and gave it a hard push, sending the merry go round into a dizzying spin.

Emily squealed and leaned her head back in the wind. "Faster! Faster!" Her head was thrown back and she was giggling out loud across the bright green dream park grass.

"Hold on tight." John spun the merry go round faster. She was so easy to please. He'd forgotten how easy it was to please a four-year-old and wished he'd done it way more often before his four-year-olds had become ten and eighteen and out of reach. When her face came by again, silly with laughter, he called out, "What next?"

"What do yooooooou wanna' do, Grandpa?!" She liked the way her voice carried in the speed and the wind and kept sing songing the phrase over and over.

"Your dream, you pick, baby girl."

"Bubbles, Grandpa John! Bubbles!"

Bubbles. That would definitely be a brand spanking new activity for John Winchester.

"Bubbles it is."

***

Dean's entire body jolted over the bed as he came awake in one harsh jerk. He was still in his clothes, the papers Sam had printed out covering all information available about Samuel Campbell and his still empty house were scattered all over the bed.

"Shit."

It was 3:30 a.m. and he hadn't checked on Emily once. His feet hit the floor and he moved through the hallway, trying to be quick and quiet at the same time. He could hear sounds coming from her room and he kicked himself for leaving her alone in another nightmare. He got to the doorway, hoping to have time to soothe her before the screaming started, before she got to that part in her dream where she burned and suffered.

Emily was flat on her back, stretched out over the bed, covers kicked to the foot. But she wasn't whimpering or crying.

She was laughing, giggling in fact. The smile on her face was soft and sweet and she was giggling like someone was tickling her and she was full on thrilled about it. It was wide open, just like that first day here with Bobby's puppies scuttling all over her body and licking her face sloppy.

The sound of her giggling made him want to laugh, too. The sight of her happy in sleep made a huge lump fill up his throat and he swallowed hard against it. Leaning over, Dean brushed a kiss against her cheek, pulled the covers back up over her little body, and left to go back to his room.

***

"Need extra beauty sleep, princess?"

Dean watched as Sam settled into a seat in Bobby's kitchen and rubbed his eyes hard with one hand and ignored him. Flicking the Teflon coated skillet with a quick movement, Dean flipped a pancake and felt a pleased rush run through his chest. Not equal to ganking a demon, but a good rush nonetheless. He hadn't cooked this much since he and Sammy were kids and he was trying to get the hang of it again. If they were going to settle, this was part of the deal and Sam sucked at cooking like he did at picking up chicks in bars. Sam had to rely on recipes and lists and missed the art of knowing what went together and what you could make when all you had were peas, instant mashed potatoes and hamburger. Sam would have to cover the crap Dean couldn't handle. All that civilized deal with authority shit. That was his deal.

"Yeah, jerk, that's why I always look better than your tired ass." Sam's eyes opened wider when Dean flipped the skillet again, catching the pancake on a plate and dropping it in front of his brother. "Show off."

"Jealous," Dean snapped back, smiling at the perfect pancake as it landed on Sam's plate. "Heard you got your dainty ass kicked by Casper the Bitchy Ghost yesterday." Dean tugged at the back of Sam's collar. "Lemme see."

"Get off me!" Sam slapped Dean's hand away. "And it was an encounter, not an ass kicking."

Dean took another look at the bright red welts on Sam's neck and laughed. "Yeah, just ghost hickies. How romantic. When's the wedding?"

"Bite me."

"Bite my pancake." Dean went back to the stove. "Want some help?"

"Not yet."

"Okay." Dean started on another pancake and swallowed the urge to start telling his brother what he should be checking and doing to pin this thing down. Sam knew his business and if he wanted backup he'd ask. Little brother was going to have to find his way in this new world, too, and make his own choices.

"Where's Emily? How'd she sleep?" Sam dug into his breakfast, talking between bites.

"All night long. Not a peep, Sam." And it was true. The only sound she'd made was giggling at some dream playing through her head when he'd checked on her in the middle of the night. "I think she's getting better. Maybe getting a lot of that anger out yesterday helped."

"That's great, Dean," Sam said, perking up at the news. He took another bite and got up to grab a cup of coffee. But he didn't go back to the table. Dean could feel Sam staring at his back. "Maybe since she's making progress, you should talk to her about—"

"About what, Sam?" Dean slammed the skillet down hard on the eye of the stove and turned on Sam. He couldn't just let him enjoy the friggin' moment. "Give her a break! She's had her first panic free night and you want me to jump all over her about something that she can't help."

Sam had that annoying tone like he was a professor trying to relate to a goddamn kindergartener. "She CAN help it, Dean. You need to handle this and stop pretending it's not getting bigger."

"Don't make her feel like a freak, Dean. Remember saying that?" His happy pancake chef buzz was gone. "She's not hurting anyone and there's nobody here to see anyway, so stop looking for something to bust my chops over."

"She has hurt people already and you know it. It's only a matter of time before she has a little kid tantrum or someone pisses her off and she reacts."

That was enough to draw him to Sam's face. "So maybe you think she's so dangerous we should lock her up downstairs in your old playpen right, Sam?" God he hated having to look up into Sam's face when he wanted to glare down on him from about two feet over his bitchy little head. "I know you think you know every goddamn thing about kids from the last one you raised. Oh, wait a minute! You haven't done shit with a little kid because you WERE the little kid. I know what I'm doing."

They stood frozen there for a few seconds. It wasn't the first time they'd stared each other down and it wouldn't be the last. Sam blinked first. "Your pancakes are burning, genius."

Shit. Dean broke away from Sam and the standoff to jerk the skillet from the eye and scrape out the charcoal flapjack into the trash. Emily was fine. In a few days, after she'd settled into sleeping all night and gotten those monsters out of her dreams, he could ease into this thing she was doing. All she was doing was messing around with light. There weren't any demons to ignite so this wasn't the world ending disaster Sam was making it out to be. He'd deal with it before they left for Lawrence or where ever they were going once they figured that out.

"Is somethin' on fire, Uncle Sammy?" Emily's voice was a bit hesitant and tremulous as she rushed into the room, still in her pajamas. She didn't pause, just climbed up into Sam's lap, diffusing the tension immediately.

"Nah, just your Daddy and his special blackened pancakes," Sam said, giving her a hug and shooting a softened look back at his brother. "You sleep good last night?"

"Yep! We went to the park." She picked up Sam's fork and started poking at his breakfast. After she'd stabbed a bite and stuffed it into her mouth, she stopped. "Sorry, forgot to ask."

"It's okay. Dean'll make me another one." Sam leaned back against his chair, hand settled on Emily's back to keep her steady while the little girl attacked his pancake.

Dean doused his anger at Sam for his natural tendency to stick his nose into his business and started another pancake. "So who went to the park with you, Cutie Pie?" It would be nice to hear about her having a happy dream for a change.

"Grandpa John."

That name practically sucked the air out of the room as Sam shot Dean a look that said "What the fuck?!" in sign language.

"Who?" Sam asked the question, leaning back to attentive position in his chair.

"Grandpa John. He made the monster go away and he spinned me on the merry go round." Another huge bite shoved into her mouth set her conversation to pause.

Grandpa John. Why the fuck would John Winchester be in Emily's dreams? If he'd wiped her memories clean, she shouldn't even know who he was. This was bad and Dean shut off the stove to take a seat beside his daughter. He forced a hard breath in and out to calm his voice before he spoke to her.

"What did Grandpa John say to you?"

"Lot's. He said we always keep our promises and that Grandma Mary liked his uniform." Emily helped herself to Dean's orange juice that he sat close to Sam's plate.

Sam's expression lost some of its urgency and he smiled. "Dad's wearing his uniform in the picture I showed Emily of him and Mom."

The cold that had shivered through Dean's veins bled away. It made sense that Emily might invent Grandpa John Winchester as some subconscious bodyguard in her dreams. Uniforms. Policemen. People who keep you safe. Made perfect sense. Calley probably told her to trust people in uniforms if she needed help. Dream life was a weird place and no one knew that more than Dean Winchester. If her little brain felt good with an imitation of Dad walking around in there, so be it. She was sleeping without being attacked or burned or terrified.

Even the fake John Winchester was some invincible demon slayer. Dad would get a kick out of that one. Chalk another one up for the Marines. Hoorah.

"I've got to go pick up some parts for the car I'm fixing today. Want to go with me and get those new colors I promised you?" Dean went back to the stove to finish Sam's pancake by way of an apology for jumping down his throat.

"Cool!" Emily shouted, gobbling the last two bites and jumping out of Sam's lap. Her feet hit the floor at a run and she disappeared up the stairs.

"I thought for a second we had a problem." Sam was getting out of his chair and grabbed one more sip from his cup.

"Yeah, that was weird but I guess it's okay." One flip and the pancake was finished. Dean wasn't about to apologize out loud for the earlier conflict but he could give Sam his damn pancake. "Your replacement is done."

"It's okay. You eat it. I've got to get on the phone to Lawrence to see if we actually have any standing for Samuel's house and do some research into the Block Party stuff."

"I'll come with you, I mean, if you need me, when go back. Sounds like it may be a little rougher than when it started. "

"Thanks, man." Sam took the olive branch on his way out the door. He gave Dean a half smile. "But you've got your hands full here. I'll let you know if I need backup, though."

Dean sat down at the table and stared down at the pancake. "Looks like you're all mine, baby."

"Can I have a bite?" Emily was back, dressed and still hungry, standing beside his leg.

Saying a sad and silent goodbye to his breakfast, Dean lifted her up into his lap. "Sure, Cutie," he said, as Emily settled into his lap and gobbled up another breakfast. Good appetite. Good night's sleep. Happy and talking. Things were looking up for this kid. At least they were drifting more toward normal and normal was what he was shooting for, even though Dean wasn't sure he could get a clear shot at that target

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Ch 8

He was all alone and smiling like a fool. John walked down the path, significantly lighter than he'd been on his way up the night before. It was morning here, too, just like it was at Singer Salvage and the scenery reflected his mood. Sunshine was sparkling, the air was crisp and clean, and if a friggin' cartoon bluebird had landed on his shoulder he might have busted out in a chorus of "Zippity Do Da."

Well, maybe not that song, but he did feel the mood to hum some Zep' and he did. All the way down to the valley that stretched out below and led back to Mary. Sure, she was going to wonder where he'd been, but—

"Thank , thank you, thank you!" Calley ran into his path from around a large boulder and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing tight. "You did it. I saw!"

"You did?" John gave her back a warm hug in return. He was two for two in pleasing ladies at this point and fed his hero complex with a large dose of satisfaction.

"Well, I couldn't see what was going on in her dream but she was so sweet in her sleep." Calley pulled back with a little embarrassed pink flush to her cheeks and smoothed the rumpled lines on his jacket. "I watched Dean check on her and she was giggling while she slept. I think he's just as happy as I am about it."

If giving Emily some peace helped Dean garner some, too, then John could bump his family pleasing ratio to three for three. Major league success.

"We played in the park and blew bubbles." John started walking again and Calley fell in beside him.

"She loves bubbles."

"Yeah, showed her how to do it with soap and her fingers." John made an "okay" symbol with his thumb and forefinger. "Used to do that with Dean in the bathtub. When he was two, of course."

A flash of that toddler in the bathtub made his smile wider. Dean blowing enough bubbles to make a pile in the water and discovering how hilarious it was to stand up and use his pee to pop 'em all. God, that was so freaking funny. For a second, he remembered that bathroom floor soaked because toddler Dean was never a tidy kid. Mary catching him lying on the wet bathroom floor, laughing his ass off at Dean waving his little pecker at a bubble bath wall like it was a canon. She'd tried not to laugh but there was no way not to.

"John?"

He'd wandered off into his own head and had forgotten Calley was even there.

"Sorry. Lost in thought." They were at the bottom now and Calley reached out to grab his hand.

"You are the best grandfather I could have hoped for my little girl. Thank you so much. I know she's going to be okay now." Calley hugged him again tightly.

He wasn't the hugging type unless there was a specific purpose and generally it was quick and sealed with a pat to the back. Last night had been different, though. Little girls liked to hug and Emily hugged him at the drop of a hat. It felt like relief and redemption rolled up in between her tiny arms. She wasn't only hugging him because he'd chased that smoky demon bitch away, either. Emily loved him. She did. He hadn't disappointed her or hurt her feelings or ignored her dreams and plans for a life of her own. He hadn't stolen her life and future. All Grandpa John had to do was be a hero to show the monster who was boss and play. That was it. He could have it all back, the way it should have been with his boys, with those little girl arms around his neck.

"Come see us later, Calley." John kissed the top of her head and let go. She was just as much family as his blood relatives who were prowling around paradise. He let her go, but before she walked away he sent off another subtle reminder. "We still need to keep this to ourselves, okay?"

She nodded in affirmation and disappeared around the bend. John kept heading forward, a spring still in his stride. He felt so good, why not keep it going? His very favorite blonde could keep this momentum heading in the right direction and some pretty heavenly thoughts began to take the place of his wholesome Grandpa John duties.

The path turned into a street and onto the driveway of the Winchester family abode. Some people might find it strange that he and Mary had chosen to spend eternity in a replica of the place a demon came to claim mother and son. Strange was relative, he supposed. It was their home and this was the only way to reclaim it.

Mary walked out into the front yard, dressed in bright green walking shorts and a frilly linen blouse.

"Hello, love. Where you been?" Her arms went around his neck and Mary gifted him with a quick peck to his rough cheek.

"New outfit?" He pulled her back to admire just how thin her shirt was in the morning sunlight.

Mary pulled back a few steps and rested her hands on her hips. "I spend twenty-two years in a decidedly non-flame retardant nightgown. I think I can have as many wardrobe changes as I please." She snapped her fingers and switched to a flowing yellow cotton sundress that fit her curves in a most non-holy way. "See?"

"I see your point." He slipped his hands around her waist, intent on using his good mood to its best advantage. "How 'bout we try on your birthday suit?"

Mary kisses were the best part of paradise. The first thing he'd felt when he came to his senses, flat on his back in the light after leaving his boys standing in front of the Devil's Gate, was Mary's mouth on his. It had taken a long time in her arms and next to her lips to convince him that he hadn't been sucked back into the Pit and that she wasn't just another of the hallucinations they'd used to torture him for a century.

John stood there for a long time, kissing Mary or her kissing him or them kissing each other stupid before letting go.

"Ummm, that was nice, baby," Mary crooned into his ear. "But, you didn't answer my question."

"Huh?"

"Where have you been for, oh, the past eight hours?"

"Didn't know I had to check my every move with you, sweetheart." He tried for another kiss to derail this train but it was already leaving the station.

"Sure you did." Her tone got a touch more adversarial. "Mind answering the question, honey?"

Honey. It sure didn't sound like honey and his good mood started to melt as his alibi or lack thereof heated up.

"I got along fine for twenty-two years without you planning my day, babydoll, so I think I'll just keep some of my business to myself." Lying wasn't an option with Mary Winchester. Her bullshit detector was top of the line. Denial and silence were the best weapons so John took a few careful steps around her and moved toward the race car he was building in his heavenly garage in his heavenly driveway.

"You've been watching, haven't you?" She was a relentless force tailing him and it was starting to piss him off. "Don't you listen to anything anyone tells you, John?"

Good offense. His only play at this point. John turned and let his annoyance run up into his face. "Woman, where do you get off telling me what to do? I'm a grown fucking man and—"

"And you're not stupid and you were right there backing me up when I told Calley what a bad idea it was to watch them. That makes you a hypocrite, John Winchester. You can't mix the living and the dead without it ending up badly and you know that."

Both of his hands were resting on the hood of his beautiful piece of machinery when he turned toward her. "You're just jealous, Mary. Admit it. Because I got to go save Emily from those demon worshipping bastards and you didn't. Well it was my turn so deal with it."

"Deal with it?" She was circling the car now, stalking him with her superior attitude that had long extinguished his nice memories of hugging his granddaughter. "You sound like one of the boys, John. Castiel took a great deal of time explaining to you how you should not get attached to being part of their world. It was a one time, necessary response to Dean's prayer for help. Watching them is just going to temp you to interfere with shit you should leave alone."

"And you would just be the queen of not meddling with shit YOU should have left alone, wouldn't you, Mary?"

Pin pulled. Grenade launched. Wreckage soon to be obliterating the conversation. Escape was at hand.

"Listen, you self righteous ass! You walked in those shoes and you made the same—" In an abrupt change of expression, Mary clamped her mouth shut and withdrew from her rigid attack posture. Long lashes blinked over her blue eyes a couple of times as she appraised him carefully. Mary walked slowly around the car to lean against it right beside him. Her voice was calm, almost complimentary when she spoke again. "Good job, corporal. You almost had me."

Shit.

John grabbed a rag and put all of his focus into rubbing down the newly painted finish on his car. "I don't know what you're talking about, but when you're ready to apologize for jumping down my throat and interrogating me like some VC prison guard, then I'll be glad to accept it." He tossed the rag to her and stomped his way to the backdoor.

Freedom was almost in his grasp when Mary fired one more shot. John elected to stand still and take the hit before continuing his grand exit.

"Love, whatever it is you're doing, think it over carefully. You know about that road paved with those good intentions. It's a bitch. Even the watching is just too much. If it's more, well…" Her voice trailed off and she fell silent.

John heard her footsteps trip down the pavement and he waited for her to leave before going inside their empty house where a funny little boy used to pee on bubbles.

****

"So you're saying this Jane Henley is the only person who knows about the Campbell house?" Sam was pacing back and forth between the cars in the lot, exhausted and frustrated from playing ping pong with the Henley Realty voicemail. "Okay, well when is she coming back into town? Great. Just give her the message and ask her to call me back. Sam Winchester. That's right. Thanks."

Sam snapped his phone shut in frustration. The one person in Lawrence, Kansas, who had answers about Samuel Campbell's house just happened to be on vacation during the precise week they found out about it. Consistent Winchester timing. Suckage as always.

He was heading back toward the house when Dean barreled out of the door in his direction. "Load up, princess. We're heading to Block Party." Dean was nearly to the Impala before Sam could catch up.

"Wait a minute? Did something happen?" Sam double his stride to catch up as Dean yanked up the truck to do a quick check before they pulled out.

"Ray called. The blocks are moving." Dean was running his hands over the salt rounds packed inside a wooden box and counting them two by two.

"They're what?"

"Moving, Sam. As in not standing still." Dean was shaking his ancient EMF/Walkman. "Did you run down all the juice in my machine?"

Sam snatched it back. "You took the friggin' car back and said the EMF was mine, remember?" Sam grabbed two new batteries and started loading them in.

"Fine," Dean groaned with his best annoyed parent voice. He slammed the trunk and headed for the driver's side. "Can we go now?"

Sam headed for his own door. "Why are you going, Dean? This is kinda my job."

The heavy door slammed hard and had the engine humming before Sam could even settle in his seat. "Okay, Sam, if you think you'd rather not have back up against a spook who's suddenly tossin' around thousand pound chunks of metal, just say the word."

Damn it. He hated it when Dean got that shitty know-it-all attitude and he was one breath away from telling him to stay the hell out of his case when he remember walking down that row of cars and smiled. "No, dude, be my guest."

"You're welcome."

Dust flew up behind the car as they moved toward the salvage yard gate. "Wait a minute, Dean! Where's Emily?"

"I told her to play in the panic room till we got back." Dean gave him a deadpan glare. "Bobby's watching her, moron. They're coloring. It's hilarious."

"Sorry. I knew you wouldn't—"

"This is weird, huh?" Dean was focusing on making a smooth turn onto the blacktop and kept a loose grip on the wheel as it spun back into a straight path.

"What?"

"Having to think about that. I mean, not being able to pick up and head off after the big bad down the road until I find a babysitter. It's weird."

"Does it bother you?"

"No. I mean, she's not a burden or anything. I've just got to get used to this and figure out what to do later."

"When later?"

"In Lawrence or wherever." Dean was staring down the road, one side of his brain talking with Sam and the other, clearly envisioning a day when he'd need a bigger support group than he had access to at the moment. "I can't just leave her with anyone and go off on a hunt."

"You don't have to."

"She's never, ever coming with us while she's a kid. I mean it, Sam. I'm not doing to do that to my kid. I've got to teach her about this life so she'll be safe but that's where I draw the line. I can't control what she does when she's grown, but I can keep her out of it while she's a kid." Dean clamped down on his opening up and took a tighter grip on the wheel.

"Glad to hear it."

"I mean it."

"I know you do." Sam was going to back his brother up in that decision. Emily might be their only chance to break the Winchester cycle. She might be the one with the choice. Not growing up on monster hunts was the path to that end. Lawrence may not be the best place to stay away from the dark side, but it might be their only option. "I didn't make any headway on the house but I've got calls out there."

Heavy laughter erupted from the driver's seat and the car made a little shimmy over the pavement.

"What's so funny?"

"Dude, we're trying to keep that kid away from the hunt and we're thinking about moving into the house where both of our grandparents, both badass hunters, were murdered by the demon who went on to murder our hunter parents. We are fucked up down to the bone, Sammy."

"You've got a point. Maybe, if it really belongs to us, we could just sell it and move somewhere else."

"Oh, hell no, Sammy. We might be missing the chance to be haunted by our own freaking grandparents. That's classic Winchester fubar, dude. Sign me up."

"Let's just worry about the Block Party ghost before we get ready for the family reunion, okay?"

"Yeah, Ray said Camden was freaked out."

They hit the interstate and left the conversation of dead grandparents, little kid babysitting issues, and Lawrence on the back burner. Thirty minutes later, they were pulling into the Block Party parking lot.

TBC

***


	9. Chapter 9

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Chapter 9

By: Suz mc

The Block Party lot was oddly quiet. No minivans clogging up the lot. No kid voices bubbling over the maze walls. And strangest of all, no Camden bounding across the lot to greet them.

"Quieter here than I remember." Dean slammed the door and joined Sam in heading toward the office.

Sam was scanning the area and quickened his step. "Yeah. Wasn't like this yesterday." His knuckles rapped hard against the door and got no response. "Let's just head back there. Ray must be next door at the house."

They reached the entrance to the maze and Dean looked over the enlarged structures with more than a kid-like wonder. "Damn! Would you look at that? There must be ten thousand wrecks making up this thing." They passed through the archway constructed of chrome bumpers welded together that were shiny and bright in the afternoon sunlight. "This is freakin' amazing."

"Did Ray say the blocks were moving all over or just in that one original section where the trouble started?"

"Just that one part."

"Over here," Sam yelled, bypassing the normal path and heading straight for the troubling section where he'd gotten taken to school the day before. He took a cautious look over the gate. "Everything looks in place to me, Dean."

"Ray's probably just scared and just thinks it's moved around." Dean started unhooking the chain holding the gate closed. He crouched down and took a careful look at the sandy pathway between the walls. "Looks smooth, nothing disturbed, and the blocks look lined up to me."

"Dean, I'd be careful if I were you."

"Sammy, I came prepared, okay?" Dean pulled a folded iron rod from the bag he had slung over his shoulder. With a quick flick of his wrist, the three sections of the rod snapped out into the air and clicked into one long piece. "If the bad tempered spook gets slap happy, I'll just show it who's boss, but I don't think it's going to come to that."

"What are you going to do?" Sam was trying not to wish ill toward his brother but some things just needed to be done.

Dean closed the gate behind him. "I'm going to try the kinder gentler approach, Sammy. Since this thing is just zapping adults, chances are it's a kid, right?"

"Could be." Sam leaned back against the opposite wall and waited.

"Sometimes kids respond to someone with a little more authority to their voice." Dean took a few strong strides toward the center of the path. "I'm just going to tell it to calm down and get on over to the other side and stop misbehaving."

"Be my guest, dude."

"Watch and learn, Sammy."

Dean cleared his voice and squared up his stance. "Okay, whoever you are, it's time to cut this crap out and I mean it! Nobody here hurt you and you can't go around hurting other people!"

Great start, Sam thought, wondering if he should be taking notes or at least have his phone ready for a picture. Dean was all big and bad with his tough love talk toward a kid spirit, but he'd certainly turned into a pile of wuss when it came to his own kid. The temperature took a sudden nose dive, icy air leaking out over the walls of the maze. Every smooth metal surface began to frost. "Dean?"

Dean waved a hand in his direction to shut him up. "Great, you're here listening. Whatever the deal is, you need to back off and stop throwing this tantrum and scaring these people. Just let go and you'll be able to move on to where there's nothing but playtime and candy stores twenty-four seven."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I've got this, Sammy!" Dean turned back to the corridor just as the one ton blocks began to bounce against each other, making an angry clatter. "I said, cut it out!" The first sting caught him by surprise and he swung the rod blindly with no substantial target to hit.

Sam watched as Dean was pummeled to the ground by invisible stings, striking him from all sides.

"Get off me, you little BITCH!" Dean was yelling back at his invisible tormentor, cutting the air with the iron rod and obviously connecting with nothing. "Sammy!" He yelped out his brother's name and he crawled to his feet, struggling to get to the gate. "You'd better cut this shit out or – DAMNIT! – I'm so gonna' KICK YOU CASPER ASS!!!"

Being doubled over in laughter was a great feeling, especially when it was the result of your smartass brother getting taken down a peg. Sam was on the ground now, breath coming in sharp gasps as he struggled to breathe and point and laugh at Dean crawling away from his spirit spanking.

Dean flung himself passed the gate, shoving it closed with his boot. "You are one dead bitch!" Dean lay stretched out on the ground, trying to rub away the pain and catch his breath.

"That's some impressive ghost whispering, Dean!" Sam had to grab his middle he was laughing so hard.

"Suck it, Sam!"

"I'm glad you think this is so fucking funny, Sam!" Ray Jacks stormed down the pathway, dark circles under his eyes making him look years older instead of one day older. "Camden's so scared he didn't sleep all fucking night. I've got rows of metal blocks sliding around like Leggoes so I had to shut down the whole fucking yard! I'm so glad you think this is so goddamn funny!" Ray stood over both of them, red faced and glaring.

"Ray, we don't think this is funny at all." Sam got up from the dirt and dusted himself off. "It's just that, well, Dean was just…"

"This may be some everyday shit for the two of you." Ray cast an angry look at Dean while he got himself off the ground and rubbed the wounds on his neck. "But this is my life, Camden's life. It's all he gets up for in the morning, damnit!"

"Ray, what's happening with Camden?" Dean shot a look over at Sam, motioning him over to join them.

Ray yanked off his cap and rubbed sweat off his forehead. "He woke up screaming his head off from a nightmare saying someone was really mad and that something hurt."

"Did he say who?" Dean broke down his iron rod and put is back in his belt.

"No. I could barely get anything coherent out of him." Ray took a seat on some blocks scattered around for visitors to take a load off. "Finally got him calmed down and back to sleep but when he came out here this morning for a look, he freaked out again because the blocks were moved."

"Looks the same to me," Sam said, giving the cordoned off rows another careful look.

"No, they're not." Ray got up and cautiously walked over to the gate. "Cam knows every block because he placed them. Put them in certain orders because of their size and shape so that they'd all fit together and not wobble and the colors would be nice grouped together. People think Cam's dumb but he's not. He remembers patterns and shit." Ray pointed toward the second line of cars in the five stack high wall. "The second row from the bottom. Camden says it's been moved."

"I still don't see it." Everything looked steady and normal. Except for Dean, who looked a little sick even though he was trying to hide it.

"The row is in line, just one block on the end was moved out, the whole thing slid down one, and it was replaced at the other end."

"Shit." Dean followed Ray's line of sight, taking in the power it would take to accomplish that task. "No wonder Camden freaked."

"You mind if I go talk to him?" Sam waited for Ray's permission. Camden was special and Ray was very protective.

Ray thought for a minute, carefully weighing his trust in Sam, then giving in. "Go ahead. But go easy. He's really scared. He's in my bedroom watching cartoons. It calms him down."

"I'll be careful with him, Ray." Sam left, heading off toward the Jacks house next-door.

Dean and Ray sat in the quiet for a while, Ray on the block bench and Dean sinking back down to the dirt for a while. Damn spirit was going to eat salt for this. Not only was his skin on fire from the shocks delivered to his neck and back, but Sam was going to laugh at him forever about this. That was a ghost death sentence.

"Here," Ray said, tossing Dean a bottle of water he'd been holding, "you look like you seriously need this."

"Thanks." He gulped down about half of the water, and then screwed the cap back on tightly. Ray looked like he was close to a breakdown himself. Sometimes it was hard to remember that what was common, everyday life to Winchesters was a once in a lifetime fuck up for civilians.

Ray eased his pissed off expression. "Met your little girl the other day. Cute as a bug, that one. She and Cam really hit it off."

"Yeah, she had a ball. When we get this all settled, I'll bring her back." The bottle was still cold and Dean pressed it against the back of his neck. "Ray, while we're waiting for Sam, can I ask you something about Camden?"

"Shoot."

"Cam's great and I don't want this to sound, well, insensitive or anything but has he always been the way he is. I remember him being like a kid when me and Sam were kids but we just didn't realize he was--"

"Different?"

"Yeah."

Ray got a warm smile on his face, much nicer than the look he'd had when he was cussin' them out a few minutes earlier. "No, Camden wasn't always like this. When he was in high school, my big brother was the perfect all-American boy. Straight A's. Lettered in sports. Handsome as hell and the nicest guy in town. Best big brother anyone could ever want. He helped our dad run this place and everybody liked him."

"What happened?" Dean saw a pain run across Ray's face and backed off. "I know it's none of my business, but maybe knowing about him might give me a clue about why this thing isn't after Camden except in his nightmare is key here."

Ray settled himself, clearly digging up memories he hadn't thought about in a very long time. "Camden is three years older than me. When he was sixteen, our parents were killed in a car accident. Camden dropped out of school and took over running the business and raising me. He never complained or bitched about it, ever. The business was doing great, even better than when dad ran things. Back then, in the sixties, social services didn't meddle much in stuff like that. We were fine and Cam made sure I went to school, got fed, had anything I needed."

The way Ray talked about Camden sounded like he was talking about someone long dead and gone.

"Everything was great until Camden turned eighteen and his number came up with the local draft board. Story goes that Cam got down on his knees to beg the locals to give him one year until they called him up so he could get me ready. I'd be sixteen by then and he wanted a year to teach me what I'd need to know to be on my own."

One year to get a little brother ready to be without you. That sounded familiar. "Did they do it?"

"Yeah, rural draft boards had a little leeway and they agreed. Cam spend every second teaching me what I needed to know to keep this business running and to take care of myself." Ray laughed out loud. "Even made sure I knew how to use a rubber 'cause he was hoping I'd get laid while he was gone."

"Did you?"

"Boy, I was sixteen and living on my own. What do you think?" Ray wiped the sweat off his face again. "Anyway, that year went by quick and then Camden shipped out. He was almost through his tour when his unit got ambushed. Cam and the guy who dragged him to the evac were the only ones out of twelve guys who made it out. Camden took shrapnel to the head and he laid in a coma at the VA for almost a year."

"Damn." Every time Dean heard stories from 'Nam, he thought about the Dad he met on his trip back to 1973, fresh home from the war but still looked like a nice normal kid. The jungle hadn't ruined John Winchester. It had taken a demon to rattle him off his foundations.

"When Camden finally woke up, it didn't take long to figure out that he wasn't my big brother anymore. All of a sudden, he was my little big brother. The doctors said it was from the brain damage, but I think part of it was that he just couldn't stand to be part of the grownup world that could do all the evil shit he saw in the jungle. They all told me to put him away, that he was going to be too much trouble, but I told them to get fucked and when I turned eighteen I brought him home. Cam's no trouble. He makes people feel good. How many people can you say that about?"

"When did he start the maze?"

"They do lots of arts and crafts at the VA rehab and Cam discovered he like it, but he's always done things in a big way." Ray's smile came back in a big way. "He started out doing weird welding sculptures and then he got the idea for stacking crushed cars into walls from this corn maze he saw in a magazine. Just never quit."

"Camden made a lot of kids happy with this place."

"He sure did. It means everything to him, Dean. The kids that come through here, playing and laughing with them, building and creating this thing with his own hands. He's my brother and I can't let him lose this place. Cam's health isn't all that great these days and he sure as hell doesn't need this crap added to it." Ray got to his feet and walked over to the blocked off section. "Hear that?! You're screwin' around with my brother and I don't like it!"

Dean got off the ground and stood at Ray's side. "Ray, where do the cars come from?"

"All over. Some we crush ourselves some we get from another demo lot one state over. Why?"

"So can you be sure they're, uh, empty before you crush them?"

"Of course I am!" Ray sounded a little insulted then eased off. "But I can't vouch for the way anyone else does business. What are you getting at?"

"I think one of your blocks is a coffin, dude."

TBC

***

The coloring had lasted all of fifteen minutes before Bobby had started to lose his mind filling up Tinkerbelle's black and white body with the orange crayon Emily had instructed him to use. He'd watched Emily quietly make Snow White's dress a psychedelic mix of chartreuse, lavender, and yellow only to obliterate the woodland creatures with cartoon flames. Dean had warned him about Emily's artwork with a quick whisper before he bugged out with Sam to go ghost hunting. The little girl was calm, even smiling a satisfied little quirk while she colored an inferno around a classic Disney orphan.

"I didn't know Snow White wore tie-dye. Pretty cool." Bobby finished the orange Tinkerbelle and leaned back in his seat.

"Yeah, if you're gonna' color things like they're 'posed to be, might as well take a picture." Emily kept painting the flames all the way to the edge of Snow White's dress.

"Your mama tell you that, Lil Bit?"

"Yep." She stopped short of actually setting Snow White on fire and tore the page out of the book. In an odd move, she planted a hard kiss on the paper, wrinkling the page with wet lips, before handing it to Bobby. "If I was Snow White, I'd like my dress to be jus' like this."

They were going to have quite a while to kill before the boys got back and Bobby was beginning to roll over just how little he had in his bag of tricks to keep a kid entertained. Emily had already nixed fishing in favor of more creative pursuits. It had been a while since Bobby had been in sole custody of a little person, especially a little person with such a delicate psyche. Block Party, the main kid amusing weapon in his arsenal, was off limits.

Luckily, Bobby Singer wasn't completely out of new ideas.

"I got a great idea," Bobby said, shoving back his chair and trying to put a big dollop of contagious enthusiasm into his voice. "Why don't we go paint?" He eased Emily's chair back and held out his hand.

"I like to paint!" She bounced out of her chair and grabbed his hand in hers. "Where's the stuff?"

This was a great idea and he was pretty darn proud of it. "Follow me, kid."

In five minutes, they were on the side of his garage, six different cans of paint at Emily's feet and a brush in her hand.

"I can paint anything I want on the whole wall?!" She was practically bubbling over at the prospect of turning Singer Salvage's beat up garage wall into her own personal artwork.

Bobby knelt down in front of her and started prying open the cans with a screw driver. "You bet you can. This place needs some shining up." Some of the cans were rusty but the paint was fine for a four-year-old to smear on the peeling backside of an old wooden building. "Hey, we need to cover up those pretty clothes before you get to work. Go in the shed and look in that big trunk under the table. There oughta' be an old shirt in there you can put on."

She trotted off in search of the shirt while Bobby finished opening the rest of the cans.

"Uncle Bobby! There's pretty stuff in here!" Her little voice had an excited squeal to it and he dropped what he was doing to see what 'pretty things' could possibly be inside his greasy workshop.

When he rounded the corner, Bobby found Emily holding evidence of a past life that had slowly been working its way back into his present since Emily and her family had arrived. A pair of round gold-rimmed sunglasses with purple lenses were perched on Emily's nose and a buckskin vest with fringe was swallowing her shoulders. A long tie-dyed dress was stretched over the side of the trunk and Emily was eyeballing a pair of bellbottoms with huge flowers painted down the legs.

Funny how memories just laid around waiting to jump up and grab you when you weren't looking. Bobby sank down beside the trunk and Emily's costume party and pulled Marley's dress into his lap. He expected to feel sad but this had nothing to do with the sad part of his life. This had been the good part, the part before everything was full of dark corners and blood and ancient books with page after page of nightmares. The dress was soft and delicate and it didn't have bloody slashes from a knife turning it into a rag.

"Is this your stuff?" Emily let out a little sneeze from the dust and the sunglasses landed in her lap.

"Yep," he said, returning the glasses to her nose. "Well, the dress isn't mine but the other stuff is."

"Wow!" Emily dug her hand over into the trunk and yanked out a leather pouch with Indian beading decorating the sides. "A purse!"

Bobby took it out of her hands and did a quick recon to be sure it was empty. Dean wouldn't take kindly to Emily getting a hold of any ancient weed that might have lingered in his magic bag. When he was sure it was Mary Jane and mushroom free, he gave it back.

"Did this belong to Betsy's mama?" Emily was waving around the hem of Marley's dress and looking through the sheer fabric.

"It sure did."

"And you wore this other stuff?"

"I did."

"Does it make you sad like my mama's car made me sad?"

Damn. This kid connected dots faster than most grown people. But, maybe she was just grasping for some common ground. Smart kid to find that kind of real estate.

"Nah," he whispered, surprised that it was the truth. "It reminds me of a place called Haight-Ashbury where we used to hang out."

"Did everybody wear stuff like this?" She shook around to make the fringe wave a bit.

That made him laugh, actually laugh. He pulled a braided headband from the bottom of the trunk, shed his cap, and put it on his forehead. "Sure did." Something was poking out of the pocket of Emily's vest and when he tugged at it and a powder dry flower came apart in his hand. "A lot of us hung around listening to music and trying to figure out how to fix what was wrong with the world."

Emily was scrutinizing the flowers painted on denim like she was memorizing them for later. "Did you figure it out?"

"Still workin' on it, kid. Maybe you and your friends can get a handle on it one day." Bobby got up a piece at a time and rubbed his knees from the ache of being folded up on the floor. A torn up t-shirt caught his eye and he pulled it out of the trunk and started peeling off his old hippie clothes from around Emily's shoulders. "Tell you what. Why don't you keep these glasses. I seem to remember them making ugly things look a lot better."

The olive drab t-shirt fell almost to her ankles and she did a little swirly dance around in a circle wearing his old shirt and purple shades. "Cooooooool!"

Bobby took her hand and led her out to her new canvas. "But let's let this trunk be our secret, 'kay?"

"That's gonna' be hard, Uncle Bobby," she said, picking up the brush and stroking a bright green stripe on the side of the garage.

"How 'bout I let you keep the bag, too?" Bobby grabbed another brush and started painting yellow circles.

"Deal!" She started painting, focusing on the green and what she was making out of it. "I need some red, Uncle Bobby."

"Yeah, I know you do, Lil Bit." Bobby used his foot to slide the small can of red paint closer to Emily. "Maybe you won't need it for long."

She looked down at the can and reached the brush toward the paint, only to stop and reconsider then continue on with the green.

Bobby watched her pour all of her attention into a green heart on the wall and decided it was a good day to remember how to paint flowers.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

I so apologize for the slow posting, but I've been so busy lately. Just wanted to say how much I appreciate all the support for the story. Maybe I should have waited till it was complete to post, but I guess I just missed having a reader connection. There's nothing like writing then putting it out there was people to read. Thanks again for all the love! Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy.

Suz

*******************

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Chapter 10

By: Suz Mc

Sam was careful not to let the door slam behind him when he came into the small house Ray and Camden Jacks shared. The last thing he wanted to do was spook that poor sweet guy who had gotten the shit scared out of him already. It wasn't hard to find the room where Camden was holed up with Spongebob Squarepants yelping loud and enthusiastically from the television in Ray's bedroom.

"F is for friends who do things. U is for you and me. N is for anywhere and anytime at all, down here in the deep blue sea!" Camden was singing lightly along with the cartoon from the center of a pile of pillows.

Sam tapped lightly against the door frame. "Hey, Cam. Mind if I come in?"

When the man first turned toward the door, the flash of fear was inescapable. It passed quickly and Camden's smile was back.

"Hey, Sammy. Come watch Spongebob. It's really cool." Camden patted the bed and scooted over to make room.

Sam took a couple of awkward to think it over then decided to accept. "Sure, okay." The bed creaked under their combined weight while Camden handed over a bag of Goldfish. "Thanks, dude."

While Sam poured a handful of yellow crackers into his hand, Camden started singing the praises of his favorite cartoon. "That one is Patrick, the starfish, and the one in the spacesuit is Sandy."

"Why's she wearing a spacesuit in the ocean?"

One of Camden's big hands punched Sam in the arm and he started laughing. "Because she's a squirrel, silly! She can't breathe underwater. Duh."

"Of course." Sam crunched on more Goldfish from the open bag on the bed. "How ya' doing, buddy? Ray said you had a rough night. Some bad dreams?"

"Did Emily come with you? Does she like Spongebob?"

Sam decided to follow the man's train of thought instead of steering it just yet. "No, Dean thought she should stay home until we figure out what's going on out in the maze."

"Does she like Spongebob?"

"I don't know. I'll have to ask her."

The cartoon rocked along as some little green guy Camden identified as "Plankton" took over. "F is for fire through all the cities. U is for uranium BOMBS! N is for no survivors down here in the deep blue sea."

"I take it he's the bad guy." Sam was guessing that Dean would like Plankton.

"Yeah, he tries, but he's not very good at it."

"So, you think maybe you could tell me about your dream, Camden?" Sam watched Camden fight his fear like the little kid he truly was inside.

"There were bees, Sam, everywhere, and they were totally mad, like that girl." Camden drew himself up tight, clutching a pillow to his chest. "I didn't mean to be a pansy and wake Ray up but it was bad, like I could feel the stings and it hurt a lot."

"Dreams can be bad, dude. I know." Sam patted Camden on the back. "And Ray doesn't think you're a pansy. He's just worried about you."

"Yeah, Ray pesters me not to eat so much junk and take my medicine so my head doesn't hurt. Ray says, 'Don't overdo it, dufus!' but that's boring."

"Brothers can be bossy, but most of the time they have good advice." Generally Dean's advice was 'go get laid' or 'stop being so lame', and then there was Dean's all time top one hundred hit of, 'stop drinking demon blood.' "What about the girl, Cam? What did she look like?"

"I didn't see her, just heard her screaming. She was little, maybe like Emily, because her voice was all high and squeaky and she just screamed like she was throwing a huge fit, but she didn't say nothing. I just wanted her to stop and those bees to go away."

Bees. Made a hell of a lot more sense than electric shocks. Sure felt like friggin' bee stings.

"Camden, that's good. That'll help a lot."

"Sam, is that little girl a ghost? Is she moving the blocks around?"

Shit. Blowing the lid on a civilian's safety zone was one thing, but Camden wasn't any civilian. Camden was like an eight-year-old kid. Sam remembered being that age when his safety net was ripped to shreds in the pages of his dad's journal.

"What did Ray say about it?" Sam wasn't about to step on territory that should only belong to a brother.

"Ray told me that it turns out some of these spooky things might be real and you and Dean know how to make ghosts go away." He looked genuinely scared, then perked up a little. "But Ray said things like that would only stay outside, so I didn't have to be scared in here. Right?"

Okay, the basic facts were there. Time for some reassurance. "That's right, buddy. I'm gonna' show Ray how to make the house safe, so you don't have to be scared of a spirit in here." A little salt and a few of those handy dandy hex bags Dean learned to twist up so artfully over the years and they could secure the house.

"Why do you think that girl is mad at me, Sammy? Did I do something bad?"

It didn't matter that Camden was old enough to be his dad. Sam put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him tight. "Dude, you're the nicest guy I know. You didn't do anything wrong. I think maybe the spirit is pissed off because she can't get on to where she's supposed to be. Maybe she's trying to talk to us about what her problem is in the only way she knows how and we're just not getting it. But when we do, we can send her on her way."

Camden seemed to feel better and he brightened up just a bit. "You think I could learn how to do that? Like the Ghostbusters?"

Good God. Sam was glad Dean hadn't heard that. After all these years, all the ghost-related movies, why did that one have to keep cropping up?

"I think you're too important here making the maze and showing people how to have fun to take up, uh, ghostbusting."

There was a look in Camden's eyes that said he was just a touch relieved not to be taken up on his offer. "Okay, Sammy. But if I can help, you'll let me know?"

"I will, but you need to stay out of the maze for a while. Sometimes when kids get mad, they can hurt you without meaning to."

"Like moving the blocks around and stinging people?"

"Exactly." Sam eased off the bed. "You try to get some sleep and I'll see you later." He was almost to the door when Camden called out to him once more.

"I'm scared my dream is gonna' be bad again."

They'd been grappling with another kid's bad dreams for a few weeks now and finally Emily's nights had settled down. If a spirit was invading Camden's dreams, Sam didn't really have a solution for him. He put a smile on his face and tried to offer the guy just a little encouragement.

"Dreams can be scary, Cam, but they can't hurt you." Lie. Huge one. "You just keep being brave and that'll help." One more lie. Being brave sometimes didn't make a hell of a lot of difference. Brave people got ripped apart every day. "Just promise to stay out of maze."

"Okay, dude!"

Camden held out his fist for a knuckle-five and Sam returned the bump, ready to leave with the tiny sliver of intel he'd gleaned from the man's nightmare.

"Maybe she's mad because she dropped her lunchbox." Camden had an ear to ear grin, like he wasn't nervous at all anymore.

"What lunchbox?" Sam sat back down on the bed.

Camden shook a few more Goldfish into his palm and looked back toward the television. "Yeah, I didn't see her but she dropped her Partridge Family lunch box. I liked my Gunsmoke one better, though."

Bees. Screaming angry little girl with a Partridge Family lunch box. Great. Not exactly a ghost resume, but they'd gotten started with less than that before.

***

"Coffin?!" Ray's voice shot up an octave and a look of complete horror meshed with the deep lines on his face. "You're telling me there's a body in one of those blocks? Shit!" The man started pacing back and forth in a panic.

"Calm down, Ray." Dean knew he'd shot his mouth off too soon.

"Calm down?! Are you kidding me?" He was stirring up dust and more panic with every step. "If there's a body, we've got to get the cops, Dean. We can't just—"

"Ray! Chill!" Dean grabbed him by both shoulders and gave him a hard jerk to settle the freaked out civilian in place. "Seriously, dude. This won't help and getting Five-O down here is not going to fix this."

Ray's building hysteria hit the brakes and he gave Dean's hands on his person a hard glare until he let go. "There's a dead body on my lot, Dean."

"Where did you think spirits came from, dude? The stork?"

Dean followed Ray back over to the barrier separating the living and the pissed off dead and just let him take it all in for a few minutes. He had to admit, for someone just being introduced to stuff beyond the veil, Ray had handled it pretty well. He'd been more focused on Camden and keeping him safe than on the concrete facts that lay underneath a haunting. Someone was dead. They'd died sad or violently and they were still here and willing to do just about anything to let people still pumping blood know about it.

Ray Jacks was starting to get a handle on things.

"It's not right, not respectful to be standing here doing nothing if there's a body out there." Ray's compassion for something making that much trouble for him was nice, but not too productive.

"I didn't feel too respected when it was kickin' my ass a few minutes ago." Dean hauled up the bottle of water he'd been drinking earlier and gulped down a few more mouthfuls. Ray was scanning each block, looking for a body . "Look, it might not be a whole body, just parts or—"

"Parts?" Ray was shaking his head in disbelief. "That's supposed to make this better? Parts. Son of a bitch."

And it probably was a kid. Dean had been trying to keep a professional distance from that tidy little fact. He had a feeling that was going to be more difficult now that he had his own little kid waiting for him at home. Well, when he managed to get them a home, anyway.

"Sit down and let me give you a quick overview of Spirit Eradication 101." Dean pointed Ray toward the block a few feet away to get the man's focus away from the possible body parts rotting away beside them. After they both settled, Dean launched into his lecture with the zeal of a first time high school teacher. "Spirits can get tangled up here a few ways. Body parts, even tiny ones, can hold 'em here. Most of the time, you can salt and burn the remains and off they go, but sometimes not. Sometimes they're tied to an object or sometimes they are just so attached to this world you have to kick their asses out of it by settling their unfinished business."

"Unfinished business? Like 'Ghost Whisperer?'"

Good God. "No, Jennifer Love-Hugetits isn't going to whisper this thing off your lot."

Some weird, half-smile was on Ray's face. "Damn, I love that show."

"Focus, Ray!"

"Sorry, what do we do? We can't just leave it out there. Hell, it might be a kid or something." Ray's momentary distraction was gone and visions of hot ghost whisperers couldn't help him.

More lecture. "What I'd like is to find the car that's spook central, douse it in gasoline and torch it, but I don't think it's going to let us in there."

"So?"

"Find out what it wants and why."

"Have a plan to accomplish all that, do ya?"

Dean watched Sam coming back from the house, and he slapped Ray on the shoulder. "Glad you asked, Ray. No, no I don't." To Ray's fallen expression, Dean stood up and pointed toward his brother, who was making his way back from the house. "Plan B's are Sam's job."

***

The trip home just seemed longer. Dean added five more mph to his speed to cover the ground faster. It was close to bedtime and he wanted to be the one there to put Emily to sleep and hear her prayers and listen to whatever she felt like telling him before she went to sleep. Most of all, he just wanted to see her living and breathing, unlike that kid who was stuck somewhere between life and death back at Block Party.

Sam was typing notes on his phone in the dark. "You want to walk through this while we have the time?"

"Sure. Lay it out for me." They hadn't had much time for talking amongst themselves back at the lot. Sam had taken charge of showing Ray the fine art of laying salt lines around his house with a few hex bags thrown in for good measure. Making those hex bags still made Dean's stomach twist a little because that skill had come straight from Ruby the Lying Bitch Demon. Maybe it was like sticking it to her again using her information to fuck up a spirit.

After he jabbed a few more words on the keypad, Sam shut it off and leaned back against the seat. "It all started six weeks ago when the last shipment of demolished cars arrived from Beeman, Minnesota. Camden moved the walls of the maze around then and whatever is loose in there got out then."

"Are we sure it's from the new cars and not one of the ones already there?" Dean like batting things back and forth with Sam. That old two-heads crap was true.

"As many times as he's moved those blocks around, it's got to be one of the new ones. And Ray said the new wrecks were already crushed when they got here and most of them are in the area where you got your ass kicked."

"Shut up." Sam's bitchy giggle drifted through the air and suddenly reigniting the prank war seemed like a grand idea. Emily would make a fine accomplice. She'd be able to read the word 'shampoo' and get that bottle while he kept Sam occupied. Yeah.

"Sorry, I just can't stop thinking about 'Kids listen to someone with more authority in his voice.' God, Dean, you're so full of shit sometimes."

"Can we get back to the job, please?" Sam's hair was going to be great in a nice shade of blue. Food coloring was definitely added to his shopping list. "Any way to identify the individual cars to see if anybody bought the farm in one?"

"Ray's working on that. Seems the lot they bought from was in bankruptcy and abandoned for years. Some of the VIN numbers were recorded before the demo and some weren't. "

"How the hell can we narrow this down, Sam? This is a fuckin' needle in a needle stack on a needle farm. We don't even have a time frame to pin it down to."

"That's where you're wrong. Camden's dream narrowed it down."

"You still convinced the spook was actually in his dream?"

"He is." Sam had formed an attachment to Camden and he was getting more and more protective of him with every visit. "Camden said the kid was a girl close to Emily's age and there were bees stinging him and that lunch box at least gives us a date range."

A dead little girl about Emily's age. This was going to suck. Five more mph helped him feel better. Sam kept rolling on with his facts and timelines, about how he was going to be searching records for dead and missing little girls in a sixty mile radius of the Beeman Junkyard. Little girls who should be in their forties with children of their own and not stuck haunting junkyards and pissing off everybody in range of their spook-juice.

"So since that show was on from '70 to '74, we've got a solid place to start." Sam was fiddling around with his phone again, getting online to start looking.

"How do you know that?"

"What?"

"The friggin' years the gay ass Partridge Family was on TV?"

"Wiki, duh?"

"Don't ever say that again, even if nobody's listening."

"What?"

"Wiki, duh? I swear, Sam, I don't know why some guy hasn't settled down with you and made an ass baby."

Sam flipped him the bird, which was becoming his general salute to his brother. The Impala turned off the four-lane onto the rougher two-lane that led to Bobby's place. The day was getting dim and Dean flipped on the headlights. Bobby had probably already fed Emily and it was nearly bedtime.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, jerk?"

"How did Dad do it? I mean, leave us like he did. How could he do that?" It had been nagging at him since the first time Emily had been out of his sight, those hours when he didn't have a clue where she was or if someone was hurting her. Even now, now that Dean knew she was with a protector who split open anyone or anything that tried to hurt her, his chest wasn't going to untwist until he was the one there with her.

"I can't answer that, Dean. I wish I could, but I gave up on trying to understand years ago."

"I mean, how does a Dad get to the point where he leaves a nine year old and a five year old alone in a motel room for days at a time? I don't get it."

"You're not going to get that way. You aren't Dad. You never have been."

Singer Salvage's gravel drive crunched under his tires. "Dad probably thought he was doing alright, you know? He just didn't see it. I don't get how he couldn't know that was wrong. What if—"

"Dean, Christ!" Sam was shaking his head in the dark and huffing his sarcastic sounding laughter. "You stalk around like this swaggering foul-mouthed asshole and then you get in the room with that kid and you've got the gooey center of a freaking Twinkie. You're not going to hurt her, okay? Stop worrying about that."

"I am not a Twinkie." Sam's analogies or metaphors or whatever the fuck they were sucked.

"And I won't let you go too far the other way, either. Like the way you're ignoring things you shouldn't."

"We're here. Shut up." Damn it. He was going to stop talking to Sam altogether if he didn't quit steering every conversation in that direction. The car squeaked to a dusty stop and Dean cranked open the door before Sam could launch into his sermon on Emily's talents, or powers, or whatever tactful word he would have chosen for it tonight.

Dean was halfway to the front door before he heard Sam's footsteps behind him. The closer he got to Bobby's living room, the bigger his chance that Sam wouldn't try to continue that particular lecture. But Sam's legs were long and he was at Dean's elbow in record time.

"Dean, look."

"This isn't the time." He had his hand on the doorknob.

"That's not what I mean. Look." Sam's voice had melted down from that superior 'you'd better listen to me' thing he did. He'd stooped over to peer into the front window. "What the hell do you make of this?"

It seemed like an impossibility that Bobby's old VHS tape of the "The Three Stooges" could have survived this long, but there it was playing big as day on the television in his living room. The room had a soft glow from one dusty floor lamp standing guard behind the couch. Bobby's head was lolled back against the sofa, his mouth wide open and his Velcro tennis shoe propped up on the coffee table. Bowls of half melted ice cream, demolished slices of pizza, and soda cans covered the table with napkins and paper plates littering the floor.

Emily was sacked out flat on her back, head on Bobby's leg. She was snoring, too. One bare foot dangled over the end of the couch and the other was reaching toward the floor. The worn olive drab t-shirt she wore was decorated with dozens of paint blobs in green, purple, and yellow. There was a pair of purple sunglasses sitting on the bridge of her nose. Bobby had his share of paint tags on his clothes as well.

"All that's missing is a keg and a couple of togas and we'd have the aftermath of a frat party!" Sam was shaking with the effort it was taking to keep his laughter and his voice quiet.

Dean held up his phone and snapped a quick shot through the window. So far, this was his third picture of Emily that belonged to him and wasn't downloaded from Calley's Facebook page or one of her friend's pages. This was Emily in his world, with his family, and she was happy. There wasn't any dark demonic force tearing her apart in her dreams and Dean felt a pretty righteous dose of satisfaction that something he was doing was working.

"Bobby Singer, corrupter of youth and junkfood junkie." Dean was laughing, too, as he eased the front door open.

Bobby's eyes popped open but he kept still. He had probably recognized their car in his sleep or there would have already been a knife sailing through the air in their direction. Bobby had that hypersensitive hearing that made him deadly. Carefully, Bobby raised one finger to his lips to keep everybody nice and quiet as Dean moved in closer and mouthed, "What the hell?" in his direction as he waved a hand toward the paint covering his and Emily's clothes.

"Artistic freedom, man." Bobby kept his voice to a whisper as Dean carefully slid one hand under  
Emily's back and the other under her head to lift her sleepy, messy, completely alive little body up into his arms.

She was balanced somewhere between the couch and his chest when all those cans of pop sent a rattling, full-bodied burp thumping out of her belly. He lost it completely and couldn't fight the laughing fit that followed. In spite of the terrible way Emily had come to be, the gut-wrenching terror they'd been through and the tough road they were walking, this kid was the bright spot in his life he'd been waiting for and she was funny as hell.

"Good one, kid!" He hauled her up the rest of the way to his chest and he knew once she got close his laughing was going to wake her up, but he couldn't help it. Burps were funny. They just were. Especially when they came out of teeny tiny dainty little girls sounding like lumberjack belches.

"Hey, Daddy." It was a dreamy delicate sound brushed against his skin coupled with little arms hugging around his neck and he still couldn't understand John Winchester the fuck at all.

"Hey, Cutie Pie." Dean started walking slowly toward the stairs. If he kept talking to her gently and rocked her while he climbed the steps, she'd probably go back to sleep. "Did you and Bobby have a good time?"

"We painted..Uncle Bobby tol' me about eight raspberry…pizza with Curly…"

Somewhere in there was the story of a great day that wasn't scary or painful.

"Awesome." They were in her room now and Dean was fishing around in one of the drawers for a nightgown to replace Bobby's homemade paint smock. "You can show me what you painted tomorrow."

"I missed you, Daddy." Emily wobbled on the edge of the bed, eyes fluttering between open and closed, as he changed her clothes.

"Missed you, too, kid." No, he didn't get John Winchester at all.

"Me and Grandpa John are at the beach."

Dean was easing her in between the covers and she must already be climbing back into whatever dream she'd left when he and Sam had gotten home. Grandpa John again. It was funny and just a little sad that the real John Winchester never had time for that with him and Sam. Oh, he'd put on the normal dad mask for his outside son, Adam, but those were only a handful of days, a collection of play-acted pictures for a clueless boy who didn't know his dad was an obsessed killing machine fashioning his first little boys into more of the same. Emily's Grandpa John was going to playgrounds and beaches and keeping monsters at bay at the same time. Too bad the real guy didn't have a clue what he'd missed.

"Have fun at the beach, Emily." Her eyes were closed and she wriggled down against the pillow as he kissed her goodnight.

"Grandpa says that little girl is mad."

"What little girl?"

"Anna Lee, that little ghost girl. She's mad." The sentence was broken off by an enormous yawn stretching her mouth wide then flopping it shut again. "Be careful."

"What? Emily? How do you know that?"

But she was already back into her dream, leaving him stunned and alone while a big smile spread across Emily's face.

****

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Wow, this is taking a while to tell, isn't it? I seriously want to take the time to get this story right so I thank all of you for hanging in there with me. Zat, you are da bomb for all of your late night encouragement. Mai is the beta to end all betas. This takes up with John just a touch out of his element but willing to go there to protect Emily for one more night.

Hope you enjoy. Remember what a review ho Suz is. Please feed her. :-) if you want to contact me directly instead of using the review box, it's

On with the story.....

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Chapter 11

By: Suz Mc

The good thing about being in the dream world was you didn't have to worry about fitting in, you just did. John didn't have to plan disguises or making himself look normal in an FBI getup or maintenance man uniform. When Emily landed them on the beach she liked to visit with her mother, all of a sudden he had swimming trunks and a tan and he belonged just like the skinny four-year-old in a ruffled bathing suit running on the sand in front of him. For a few seconds, the black demon smoke had bubbled at the crest of a sand dune and Emily's eyes had gotten wide and scared. The entire skyline had started to rumble with that intense fear she couldn't seem to beat on her own.

Emily had cowered behind his leg and whimpered, "Grandpa, please make it go away," and he'd held up his hand and blocked it behind brick wall like he always did. All he had to do was reassure her that he was stronger than the monster, hug her up close for a bit, and all was right again. She'd faded away, just for a few minutes, when Dean had carried her up to bed, but now she was back.

John lounged back in the hammock Emily had dreamed up for them, strung between a couple of poles underneath a wide striped canopy. This kid had great ideas. He could only remember being on a beach twice. Once, in the service when they had some quick R&R and once when he and Mary had driven to California to visit his cousin. They should have gone more, should have taken the boys and let Dean go nuts in wet sand like Emily.

They'd been all alone at first, nothing but the sound of wind and water, but Emily said there were usually people on the beach, so he'd waved up a few kids for her to play with and a few cute sunbathing girls on towels down the beach a ways. Why shouldn't Grandpa have some scenery, too? Next, he had a cooler and beer and this friggin' dream was in business. Yes, Grandpa John was happy. This Grandpa shit was great. Emily was playing with the two kids that had popped out of his imagination. The seven year old was wiry with a bleached buzz cut and there was a rounder toddler with messy, too long hair who was closer to Emily's size. The resemblances weren't lost on John. Hell, the three kids in front of him were the only ones he'd ever been attached to anyway. It was almost like giving Sam and Dean a day at the beach and Emily was having a ball with the boys, too. She was over at the edge of the water, running in and out of the surf, splashing and laughing with her friends.

"Don't go in past your knees unless I'm over there, kid!" He yelled it across the twenty or so yards that separated them on the Galveston sand.

"I'm no baby! I can swim good!" She waded out into the water, a subtle act of defiance while casting a sassy grin back at her playmates, but stayed where he'd asked, until a wave knocked her flat on her tiny ass.

By the time he got there, she was sputtering up out of the water. "I gotcha!" John grabbed underneath her arms and pulled her out of the water. The boys went on about their business, having fun throwing shells out into the water.

"Sneaky wave!" Emily was pissed, spitting out salt water and trying to shove strings of wet hair out of her face. He thought up a towel right quick and tried to dry off Emily's face in between his own laughter. "Not funny!" she shouted back into his face and it only made him laugh more.

It was too funny. Hilarious, in fact, and he could enjoy it being so freaking funny. To stay in Emily's good graces as he walked them back toward the hammock, he fell into a voice he hadn't used until he'd worn matching eye patches with a toddler for Halloween. "Arrg! The scurvy wave sneaked up on ye,aye? Smacked ye booty, did he?"

When she gave into giggles, she gave in body and all. "You said booty!" By the time they reached the shade, Emily was a wiggling mass of funny. He settled them in the hammock, Emily with a blue popsicle and Grandpa with a Sam Adams and they just hung out for a while.

It was pretty here and he was sure that he and Mary were going to do the beach thing when he got back upstairs. The dream girls down the sand were certainly doing their share to keep the real estate desirable and he'd have to make sure they weren't included on his marital beach.

"You like pretty girls, don't you, Grandpa John?" Emily was slurping the blue popsicle running down her arm.

"I do. Like you, pretty girl."

"My daddy likes pretty girls and they like him a lot. 'Specially restaurant ladies."

"It's always been that way, baby girl. Your daddy likes the ladies." John shot a look down the beach where the future tomcat in question was holding the other little boy's hand and wandering away while deep in conversation. "Bet he's going to get some payback when boys start coming around thinking you're pretty."

"I like boys. They're like puppies, all loud and bouncin' around."

Holy shit for the boy who has to face Dean and the Taurus on date night. "Boys are fine, but you make sure you're in charge, okay? You be the boss and your dad will show you what to do if they don't behave."

"My mama was pretty. Must be why my daddy liked her."

The breeze picked up just a bit and John stayed silent. He felt sorry for Calley and what she'd gone through, her sacrifice. He understood being willing to turn yourself over to flames and pain to save your child whether that child was four or twenty-seven. He also understood the guilt Dean was going to wallow in over that night with Calley and what it cost her psyche in pain and fear. He didn't envy the tightrope his son would have to walk between the gritty, awful truth of the one night he spent with Emily's mother and what to tell his child. The truth was just out of the question until, maybe, never, but lies with too many details could unravel.

John knew his son. John knew Calley. He decided to use that to quench Emily's curiosity. "I think your mom and dad are pretty special and that's how they found each other so they could make someone as fantastic as you."

It wasn't a lie at all, but he didn't want to spark too many more questions. He'd already run his mouth earlier when he'd given Emily a clue about the spirit his sons were chasing. Probably a mistake, but he wanted to throw them a bone. He missed the hunt, the thrill of solving supernatural puzzles. If he played a part this way, he was still in the game.

Now, for the redirection.

Emily was snuggled up close at his side, still sucking on her popsicle. "Did you and your mama hang out here in this hammock?"

"Yeah. We like Galveston. A big storm messed it up once but they fixed it." She crunched on the last pieces of ice. "But you gotta be careful of the jellyfishes. They sting!"

Another chance to be the all powerful Grandpa John. With a sweep of grandeur, John held up his palm toward the ocean and waved. "Jellyfish all gone, kid."

"Good!" Emily sat up, swinging her legs over the canvas. "I'm 'llergic. Last time I got stinged by one it swelled up HUGE and I had to go to the hospital and get a shot. I don't like those."

Carefully, he eased her off the side so that he could get up without tumbling them off onto the sand. "You daddy's allergic to jellyfish, too. Once, he fell off a peer into the ocean and one got in his pants and he had to go to the hospital, too."

Hauling a grown and belligerent Dean, stinging and swollen, to the hospital had been a gargantuan task. Especially, since Dean fought him the entire way as the swelling went from an embarrassing welt on his thigh to bright red tendrils racing up his body and closing his eyes shut. He'd gotten him an epinephrine injection just in time to keep his throat from closing. So many of Dean's escapades had gone from needing a dressing down for his stupidity to a near death experience within minutes. Hopefully, Dean still kept a fresh epi-pen in the first aid kit.

"Be sure to tell your daddy about being allergic to jellyfish so he'll know, okay?" He reached down to take her hand, warming up as she squeezed his fingers.

"I will, Grandpa." Emily plopped down just out of the water's edge, and started piling sand into a bucket for a sandcastle. "You can dig the moat," she said, tossing him a pink shovel.

"Of course."

After dumping a perfect bucket-shaped cone onto the sand, she stopped everything and looked him straight in the eye. "Why don't you pick tomorrow night, Grandpa?"

"Pick what?"

"Where we go."

Night number three. She was expecting it and who the hell was John Winchester to disappoint a little girl, right? He'd disappointed enough kids. This wasn't hurting anyone. Hell, one more night would be good for her. If he came back and didn't have to cage up the subconscious monster then he'd know it was time to leave.

"You ever build a snowman, Emily?" He scooped out more sand to make the moat deeper. Princesses needed deep moats that dragons couldn't cross.

"Like Frosty?! Cool! I never ever touched snow before!"

That was all he needed. That excitement, that complete thrill at what he had to offer, was all he needed to sway him. The boys were coming back toward them now, more cheap labor for castle building.

"Then tomorrow night, snow it is." John waved at the little boys. "Come on over, guys. We've got plenty of work to do."

***

Dean's body was ice cold from the inside out. That little ghost girl. That's what Emily had said. She knew it was a girl, knew it was a ghost. Goddamn it! She'd even said her name, Anna Lee.

His hand felt numb as he used it to balance and pivot quickly from the last stair and all but swing himself into the living room. Something churned in his gut that was part anger and part fear and it kept rolling and folding in on itself over and over. Sam and Bobby both divided like bowling pins when he busted in between them.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam had spilled the plates he was balancing on an empty pizza box and they landed silently on the floor around their feet.

"Bobby, did you tell Emily what we were doing at Block Party? You tell her about ghosts?" Dean was bowed up and pissed. This was his fucking business and that damn cat was supposed to stay bagged up.

At first, the older man looked amused, like Dean was waiting for him for him to say, "Who's there?" to his "Knock knock." When he saw that there was no punch line on the way, he looked sadly offended.

"Of course not, boy." Yeah, Bobby was offended but he sounded more wounded, his voice gentle and hushed. "I would never step on your toes where that little girl is concerned. What you tell her or don't tell her 'bout what is and what isn't real is your business, son."

That reaction, seeing hurt in Bobby's face where he expected challenge, backed Dean up a few steps in his anger. "Well, how does she know about it then, Bobby? Sam?" He turned toward his other option. "Did you say anything to her about it?"

"No, I didn't and if I was going to do an end run around you about anything with Emily it wouldn't be about this." Sam was looking up at him from the floor, gathering up the trash he's dropped. "What did she say that makes you think she knows anything?"

"Goddamnit!" He'd already paced across the room and was halfway back. "She said that 'Grandpa John' told her to tell us to be careful of the 'little ghost girl' and that her name was Anna Lee. Goddamnit! Who told her about this?"

"I don't know, Dean, but lower your voice or you're going to wake her up. Maybe she heard us talking. Where was she when Ray called this afternoon and you talked to him on the phone?" Sam reached inside the kitchen and tossed the dirty plates into the trash.

"I was in the kitchen and she was…" Dean landed one hand on the sofa where Emily had been hanging out when the phone rang. "She was here." Ten feet away from the kitchen. Goddamnit.

"Unless you lowered the cone of silence over your head, she could hear every word you said, dumbass." Sam was standing beside Bobby, who had remained silent after his moment in the line of fire. "She's smart. She already knows monsters are real because one of them tried to kill her. It's not a big leap for her to maybe hear the word ghost and put it all together, is it?"

He hadn't been careful when he was talking because he was in Bobby's house. Maybe she had heard him. Shit. "But what about the name, Sam? You think the spirit talked to Camden in his dream. Could it have latched onto Emily?" Fuck. This bitch was going to die, kid or no kid, if it was screwing around with Emily's head.

"I don't think it's the ghost and I don't think Emily's 'shining' either." Sam put a sarcastic emphasis on that last point. He'd hated it when Dean had thrown that at him years ago and the barb didn't go unnoticed.

Bobby seemed to shake off his hurt feelings. "I doubt it, too, Dean. I never took her near the closed off section. Camden had been inside there and the spook doesn't seem to be venturing outside of that area." With a wave, Bobby directed them into the kitchen and sat down at the chipped fifties dinette. "More than likely, she heard you talking and she really, really wants to help you and feel close to you so she's dreaming up this stuff while she's asleep. It coming from the mouth of her new nighttime hero makes it real for her." Bobby got a warm smile on his face. "She's trying to protect her Daddy. Makes her feel bigger, stronger, like she's helping you. Kinda like how you tried to look after your dad when you were just a little kid."

He felt the chair grab him hard as he sat down and the lump in his throat settled scratchy and rough there. Looking after Dad. Worrying about Dad. Protecting Dad any way he could think of because he was so fucking desperate not to be alone. Dad and Sammy were all he had and it didn't matter that he was just six or ten or twenty, Dean had to hold onto them with his raw fingernails so he wouldn't be alone. Now his kid was trying to do the same.

He could wrap his head around that feeling because it was imprinted into his being for good and always. But the difference was, he wasn't going anywhere. He just had to make Emily believe it.

Sam was standing behind his chair, talking in a way designed to squelch potential freak outs. "Whatever she's working out in her head, Dean, it seems to be making her feel better. I don't think you have to worry about it. What you're doing with her is helping."

Sammy's hand brushed across his shoulder, just a quick touch in Sammy-fashion to let him know he understood. It was nice that Sammy could forget Dean's flames in a few minutes and be ready to back him up.

"I hope so."

Sammy got up and went back to gather the rest of the trash, leaving him alone with Bobby. The older man fiddled around with a paper towel wadded up on the table. "She was real happy tonight. Got the metabolism of a hummingbird on crack 'cause she can eat like a horse, that kid. We had a lot of fun and I thank you for trusting me with her."

That caught Dean off guard. "Bobby, I can count on one hand the people I'd trust with Emily and you're right up there at the top. I'm sorry I got so pissy with you."

Bobby smiled and shook his head to accept. "You were worried about your little girl. Don't' sweat it, boy."

"Something just feels wrong, though, Bobby. Maybe it's just this shit over at Block Party, but I just feel like I'm letting something get past me here."

"You got a lot plates spinning in the air. Hunting. Fixing that car out front. The Daddy business. It's a lot to keep running at once." Bobby yawned deeply and scrubbed one hand over his beard. "Kid wore me slap out. I'm going to bed." He left, mounting the stairs slowly until he was out of sight.

He sat for a long time in the dim kitchen lighting, thinking about just how much was going right and just how much could go wrong if those plates started crashing down around his family.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep By: Suz Mc

Chapter 12

Whatever Bobby and Emily had done during their afternoon had left her wiped completely out and one thing Dean was learning was that you let sleeping four-year-olds lie. Bobby had looked like he was going to need major nap time sometime in the near future when he'd hauled his grumpy, yawning self past the kitchen table an hour earlier. All Dean had left for conversation was boring ass Sam who was glued to his laptop like it was going to give him a lap dance.

"You take my advice and get the platinum?" Dean enjoyed the way Sam sometimes jumped clean out of his skin when you yanked him away from a research geek fest.

"What?" Sam looked full on annoyed and ran a hand through his hair to settle the mess he'd barely combed. It was obvious he'd been up for a good long while combing through records on the suspect cars, trying to find a link to some dead kid.

"Busty Asian Beauties? The platinum membership?" Dean shoved a cup of coffee toward his brother and took a seat.

"Porn does not make the world go round, Dean. Some of us do just fine with real girls."

"Yeah, those real girls who double as a flotation device." He got a real belly laugh at what a prude Sam could be. "Lighten up, Chastity Boy. Find anything in between deviant website watching?"

Sam shoved a list of names in Dean's direction and snapped his computer shut. "I ran a list of girls under seven, missing or dead within a thirty mile radius of the lot between 1970 and 1974. Figured that was the furthest distance that would have been towed to the junkyard."

Dean ran a finger down the list. "No Anna Lee on the list, huh?" He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved. It was much easier to believe that Sam and Bobby were right that Emily was projecting some kind of need to be part of his life and help him without that name being on the list.

"No Anna Lee, Dean." Sam smiled like he was relieved, too. Neither of them wanted Emily to be involved in this hunt, or any hunt for that matter. "Lot of names, though. More than I expected." Sam pointed his pen down the list of nineteen names. "I hate it when it's kids."

Kids were always a kink to any job and especially now. All of these names, all of these little girls, were somebody's child and now things were different for them both. More personal. More important. Jenny Berch, five, who was thrown from a station wagon before seatbelts were a big deal. Linda James, almost seven, died the day before her birthday in her own swimming pool. Betty Bush, four, found strangled with her shoe laces in 1972. Betty's own dad had been fried for that one. That one stung. Most of the others had died in hospitals or accidents, some in cars, but none in the vehicles Ray and Camden had brought onto their property.

There were three other girls who'd gone missing and there were pictures of those bright little faces staring out from posters put up by desperate parents who never gave up searching for them. One even had an age progression done to show what she might have looked like in her forties. Someone had spent forty years looking for her and Dean could understand that now because he had one upstairs who would be bouncing down the stairs at any moment with a smile on her face wanting breakfast.

"Oh, printed that one by mistake." Sam took back the poster with the pretty little girl and a computer generated picture of a grown woman on it. "Wrong year." He moved like he was going to wad up the page and toss it, but he stopped and shoved the printout to the back of the folder. Sam could be reverent about the damnest things.

"So none of these tie back to any of those cars?" Dean folded over the page. He didn't really want to think of them as dead little girls and seeing their names made that hard.

"Of course not. That would be too easy." Sam got up to stalk around the kitchen for a while and stretch his legs.

"No tie to a relative or anything like that?"

"Gee, Dean. I didn't think of that." Sam did his disgusted eye roll. "No."

"What about the lot in Minnesota itself? Any violent death or death period?"

"Do I look stupid to you?"

"Well, sometimes when you breathe with your mouth open like that you do." Sometimes Sam was just too good of a straight man to pass up.

"I've gone over every angle I can think of and no arrows point to anything. I need a break and a shower." Sam dumped his cup in the sink and headed toward the stairs. "Oh, and bite me."

"Check on the party girl on your way up," Dean called behind him and watched Sam nod in response.

Dean was grabbing the things he'd need to make breakfast for Emily and realized he kept looking out the doorway. He wanted her to get up and get down those stairs with her messy hair, Cinderella Barbie tucked under her arm, to sit at the table with him and talk. She was funny with her squeaky high pitched little girl voice and wide open way of being.

He looked one more time. Still no Emily. He was going to give her until he had the eggs and bacon out on the counter and the bread in the toaster and if she wasn't awake he was going to go get her. He should be out in the garage working on the car, but Mr. GTO could wait for his Emily fix to be satisfied first.

Once everything was laid out on the counter, Dean headed for the stairs only to be stopped short by Sam's cellphone vibrating over the kitchen table. They'd always answered each other's phones, so Dean didn't hesitate to pick it up and tap accept.

"Hello." Dean never revealed their names at first shot and that wasn't about to change now.

"Mr. Winchester? Sam Winchester?" It was a woman's voice on the line and when Dean drew the phone back, he recognized the Kansas area code.

"Who's asking?"

"This is Jane Henley, Henley Realty in Lawrence, Kansas. Mr. Winchester called about the Campbell property."

"Oh, yeah," Dean said, finding a chair. "This is Dean Winchester, Sam's brother. Do you have some information about the house? Our dad said we should look into it."

"Oh my goodness yes!" Her voice was shot full of and overdone enthusiasm. "You don't know how glad we are that someone has finally expressed an interest in the property! When are you coming to claim it?!" Dean had to hold the phone back from his ear because her voice was punching a hole in his brain.

"Someone didn't slack on the java this morning, right Jane? I'm not deaf."

She toned it down quick, taking a more professional tone. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Winchester. It's just that we've been handling this property for many years and it's just wonderful to finally have someone interested. You don't know how much. When are you and your brother coming?"

Okay. Dean had no doubt that Jane Henley should be anxious to meet him, but something was definitely over the top about her reaction. Real estate agents were a perky bunch.

"Well, let's just wait on that until you tell me something about it. Why are you in charge of that house?"

"Oh, okay." Dean could hear her shuffling papers. "The house became the property of Mary Campbell Winchester after her parents died and it hasn't been lived in since. In 1983, the property was transferred to John Winchester—"

"That's my father."

"Right, I should have known that. Anyway, it seems your father made an arrangement with the city of Lawrence to split the property. It had about twenty-five acres behind the house. Looks a lot smaller from the street, but the property goes back to butt up against what was a very small city baseball field. Mr. Winchester gave the city nineteen acres for them to increase the size of the park in exchange for them maintaining the house and waving property taxes until a family member claimed it. The city turned the property's maintenance over to us ten years ago and it's just wonderful to have someone coming to live in that house."

That house. Jane Henley seemed to run out of breath and steam on those last two words. Dean had run out of steam about midway through the story. John Winchester had hocked everything he owned except weapons and the Impala for the grand cause of hunting. He'd joked about spending their nothing college funds on ammo. Why the hell would he leave something as valuable as a house and acreage just sitting there waiting for them?

"What's owed on the property?" That was going to be the catch. If someone had been keeping up a house and lot for about thirty years, there was going to be a bill.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing, Mr. Winchester. I told you, that was part of the deal. The city took over the care of the Campbell place and waved all property taxes in exchange for getting a fabulous park." Jane hesitated while Dean tried to wrap his brain around someone handing him Samuel Campbell's great house on a platter. "Do you have any children, Mr. Winchester?"

"Yeah." It was simultaneously odd and awesome every time he said it. "A little girl."

The gushing began anew. "That is fabulous! Your house has this amazing city park as its backyard and you have your dad to thank for it. There are baseball fields, playground equipment, and a pool, even a tennis court. Perfect place to raise a child. And your wife is going to love the house. It's—"

"It's just me and my daughter and my brother." He was going to have to deal with that over and over. Questions about wives and mothers and those sympathetic looks directed toward him because he was a father raising a kid without a woman. Dad used to get those all the time and he got crankier and crankier about his responses as the years went on.

"Oh, well then, uh," Jane fumbled to recover, "a little girl. That's great. There are great schools close by and it's a nice quiet neighborhood. Perfect for your family."

_How the hell would you know, lady? Might not be so quiet after we get there. _

"Mr. Winchester?"

"Oh, sorry. Yeah, that sounds great and we want to come take a look, I guess."

"When? I'll meet you any time. Just say the word."

"We'll be in touch." After he'd snapped the phone shut, Dean realized he hadn't said goodbye or given the juiced up realtor a time frame for their visit. "All right," he said to the phone, "mind officially blown."

The sound of tiny bare feet hopping down the stairs got Dean's attention away from his blown mind.

"Hey, Daddy!" Emily was just like he was expecting. Hair in serious need of a brush. Cinderella Barbie riding underneath her arm. Smile on her face. There were stairs at Samuel's place. She could be running down those every morning, too.

The little girl climbed up on his lap like this was the best seat in the house.

"Morning, Cutie Pie." He planted a kiss on her messy head. "Did you sleep good?"

"Yep. What 'cha makin'?"

"How about scrambled eggs?"

"I can scramble good!"

"Excellent. I need a scramble expert" Dean grabbed her tight and deposited her backside on the counter beside a bowl. "You break 'em like this and dump 'em in." He cracked a couple and let her take over. Once the eggs were all smashed and egg shells littering the counter, Dean put a fork in Emily's hand. "Now, whale on those eggs with this until all the yellow blobs are busted up."

Dean got the rest of breakfast going while he watched Emily's devotion to scrambling over to his left. He and Sammy had made their first attempt at scrambled eggs when Sammy was about Emily's age. Of course, they set off the fire alarm that first time, but they got better.

"How's this?" Emily was pointing toward the bowl, grinning.

"Perfect." He took the bowl and dumped it into the skillet. Dean stirred and Emily watched and the déjà vu nearly shook him. Of course, when Sam was sitting on the counter watching their disastrous first attempt at scrambled eggs, Dean had been standing on a chair himself. What he couldn't remember was where dad was. Was he there passed out in bed or too cut up to move? Was he gone killing something? It didn't matter. Dad wasn't part of that memory.

Dean wanted to be part of all of Emily's memories, every one.

"Say, I want to ask you something." Dean kept scrambling and turning the eggs while he eased into the subject. "How would you feel about us taking a trip to Kansas? That's where me and Uncle Sammy were born and we're thinking about making that our new home."

"Home is in Austin." She was tossing the egg shells into the now empty bowl and threw out her sentence like it was carved in stone. Home was in Austin for her.

"Yeah, that was your home and I promise we'll go visit there sometime soon, but we've got to make a new home for us and I was thinking Kansas might be pretty cool." Dean reached over and grabbed the toast as it popped out of Bobby's shiny silver toaster.

"That's where Dorothy's from." Emily took the toast from his hand and put it on a napkin. "Do you know her?"

"I don't think so." Who the hell was Dorothy?

"It's no color where she lives in Kansas." She dragged out the syllables so it sounded more like "cans ass" when she said it and it was really, really funny. "A mean lady took her dog, but she got it back."

Finally, Dean wrapped his brain around her thought processes and found himself laughing out loud. "That's a movie, Emily. And I promise you there's color in Kansas and nobody's going to mess with your dog." Dean scraped the eggs onto a plate, still laughing at what he thought was going to be a damn stressful conversation.

"Can we get one?" Emily said as her dad eased her down to the floor and pointed her toward the table.

"One what?"

"A dog."

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe."

"How can nobody mess with my dog if I don't got one?" As quickly as Dean could get eggs on her plate, she was eating them and he hoped it would occupy her mouth for a few seconds so he could get back to his point.

"We'll talk about dogs later, but I think you'll like it there. We might live in your great grandpa's house."

"Is he better than regular grandpa?"

"What?"

"Cuz he's great."

"That's not what that means, but—"

"My stuff is in Austin in my house, in my room."

The conversation had made its twisted way round to the big misunderstanding, the big truth that wasn't the truth anymore. Emily didn't have a home in Austin. Her stuff was taking up space in boxes waiting for the word to follow her. She didn't actually have a home at all. She was visiting at Bobby Singer's place, as were all three of them, and the old guy would be more than willing to have them stay forever, but it wasn't home. They were homeless and little girls didn't need to be homeless.

"Sweetheart, your home is with me, okay? And I'm going to make sure you like it and it's nice. I'll get all your stuff from Austin and I swear we'll make it so you're happy there."

Dean held his breath, waiting for Emily to pause between bites and tell him her home was still in Austin with her friends and school and people who used their real names and didn't chase monsters for free.

"Is Uncle Sammy coming with us for promise?" She looked at him with those dark eyes, batting long eyelashes more than once as she waited for his answer to what appeared to be the deal breaker if his answer was wrong.

"Yes, promise."

"Awesome, but Cans-ass was no color on TV."

"That was just in the movie. I promise you, Kansas is in color."

"That's okay, Daddy." Emily held up her toast for him to smear jelly on. "I'll color it if they lefted blank spots." She took back her toast and started eating.

"I don't doubt it, kid. " Dean decided to leave it alone for a while and eat his own breakfast while he still had some available.

Winchesters returning to Kansas. What a trip.

***

Sam had always liked to walk. It helped him clear his head, get his brain focused on a problem. Walking alone did that for Sam and he seriously needed to have some inspiration to help him sort through the useless friggin' data he'd assembled about the Block Party ghost that had led absolutely nowhere.

And it might have worked if he hadn't had Emily following behind him and three puppies following behind her. It was hard to concentrate when he'd been up since four a.m. and the voice in his head that generally sorted through things was drowned out by weird hybrid puppies yapping at his heels and Emily telling him all about moving to "Cans-ass."

"…and if there's blank spots we have ta'color 'em, Uncle Sammy."

"What?" Emily had come up beside him and was holding onto his fingers, swinging them like she was in charge of the direction they took.

"Daddy said they put the color back where Dorothy was, but they mighta missed some." She looked up at him, eyes wide and one hand stuck out in the air to indicate what a dufus he was not to get whatever she was talking about and he clearly didn't.

"Okay." Sam elected to go along and try to figure it out later. "I'm glad you're excited about going to Kansas. I'm kinda excited, too." And scared, even though he wasn't going to admit it, ever. Dean was expecting him to help him get this right and he didn't have a clue.

"Cans-ass is cool. Daddy said and there's a house that was the better grandpa's."

Damn. It was just about as hard to follow Emily's logic as it was Dean's sometimes. Better grandpa. One of the puppies almost tripped him and he caught up with her train of thought.

"Great Grandpa, Emily. His name was Samuel Campbell."

"He was a Sammy like you!" Emily let go of his hand to pick up one of the fat puppies and carry it down the gravel road like a babydoll.

"That's right."

They were getting closer to Bobby's house and the wind was blowing dust all around them. "I'm glad you're going with us to Cans-ass." She rearranged the puppy in her arms so she could grab his hand again.

"It's Kansas, Em. One word, softer on the ass part."

"Kanz-is?"

"Much better." He felt a huge smile break across his face at Emily funny Texas drawl and he was glad he'd corrected her even though it was funny as hell to hear her say "ass" over and over. "And I'm glad I'm going, too." _Where else would I go?_

"Did you get Anna Lee to go on yet?" The squirming pup was too much for her to handle, so Emily had plopped him back on all fours to run beside them the last distance to the house.

Sam elected to take his interrupted think time and probe Emily's head for a few minutes. Deep down, he didn't think there was anything there, but when you were at a dead end, you needed to turn around. Squatting down on the ground in front of the little girl, Sam tried to get her full attention.

"Are you sure that's her name, Sweetheart? I didn't find an Anna Lee anywhere I looked."

"That's what he said. Anna Lee is the ghost girl's name."

"And Grandpa John told you that?"

"At the beach."

John Winchester at the beach. No fucking way. Now he knew she was inventing all of this, because his dad wouldn't have been caught dead or alive on the beach, lounging in the sand making sand castles.

"He likes pretty girls."

"Most guys do. How did you know there was a ghost?"

"Grandpa told me sometimes people get dead and get losted and you and daddy know how to get them founded and on their ways so they'll be happy again."

That caused him a brain stumble. Sam held her hand in his for a few seconds. "You sure you didn't hear your Daddy or me and Uncle Bobby talking about that?"

"Daddy talked to somebodys on the phone about the ghost but Grandpa knows, too. I promise that's her name and he said to tell you 'bout it!" Emily looked up at him, a little tremble in her bottom lip and a sharper edge finding its way into her voice. "I don't tell stories, Uncle Sammy! I don't!"

"It's okay, Em. I believe you." She certainly believed it and he didn't want to add to her stress by poking holes in the nighttime bubble she'd built for her own protection. At least he knew now that she had overheard Dean and had subconsciously constructed a way to be part of this, just like Bobby had said she did.

"I gotta go potty."

"You run on ahead. I'll put the puppies away for you."

In what appeared to be a last second thought on her behalf, Emily smacked a wet kiss against his cheek and hugged tightly around Sam's neck before she took off running toward the house. That little gesture spoke volumes of how much weight his opinion, his trust meant to her. Sam gathered up the brown wiggling pups and watched Emily bounce into the house.

He was almost to the pen in the shade by the junkyard gate when Sam began to pick up on a loud angry voice coming from just inside the yard. It wasn't Dean. He was on the other side of the property in the garage and Sam could hear his radio blasting while he worked. This was a new voice that seemed to alternate with Bobby's level but intense arguing voice.

"I'm not paying two fucking hundred dollars because some asswipe patrolman didn't give me time to get my own fucking truck towed off the highway!"

Sam dropped the puppies back in their pen and rounded to corner to see what was going on only to find Bobby in a standoff with an angry customer.

"If it's on the road two days, it's abandoned and they call for a tow, mister. If you want the truck, it's cash only." Bobby tossed a box into the barrel he was using to burn trash, turning his head away from the furious man who outweighed him by about thirty or so pounds.

"That's bullshit!" The man was taller than Bobby, wearing a dirty plaid shirt with the sleeves torn off to promote his tough guy image. He'd yanked off his baseball cap and sweaty red hair dropped down in his face. "You got some kickback shit going with the highway patrol to squeeze money out of guys who just happen to breakdown on your stretch of road and I'm not bending over for you, Singer. I want my damn truck and I'm gonna hook a chain to it and haul it the fuck out of here or I'm road hauling you! Take your pick!"

Bobby didn't flinch. He never flinched, ever. Just stood there all relaxed the way somebody really dangerous does before they rip your throat out. Evidently Redman had never dealt with anybody on that level of danger or he'd know how close he was to crossing over into the light if he made the wrong move.

Sam knew he didn't need to intervene. Bobby had enough armaments on his body at any given time of day to introduce you to Mr. Dead at his whim. Bobby Singer could handle a pissed off redneck.

"Friend," Bobby said, throwing in one more large box, "I'm gonna let it pass that you tried to drive in the back gate of my lot and swipe your truck without giving me what you owe, but you ain't getting that truck lessen you put two hundred big ones in my hand." Bobby caught Sam's eye and let a half smile play under his heavy beard. His head cocked slightly to one side, directing Sam out of the yard.

That meant Bobby Singer had it under control so Sam decided to leave Bobby to his own business arrangements and turned toward the house.

What he saw turned his blood to ice.

Emily was standing in the window, a wild angry stare reaching out toward the site where Bobby and the red haired man were arguing. Sam tuned out exactly what the men were saying as he watched Emily watching the confrontation. The voices were rising as the man got more and more belligerent and Bobby dug in his heels, refusing to turn over the truck.

What was actually happening between Bobby and the redneck didn't matter. Sam started running toward the house. Emily's rage was practically sizzling through the air as she watched the men argue beside the burning barrel of trash. He was running full speed, but he knew he couldn't beat her hand, her flash of vengeance if she lashed out before he got there.

He could hear the fire popping behind him and the thud of Bobby tossing something else into the fire.

"How 'bout I kick your ass, then take my truck, old man!"

Sam wasn't going to make it. The red hair. Emily might not have an active memory of what happened to her when Amora's cultist had snatched her, but the man in the yard had the same hair as that bastard who tried to hurt her before Dean gutted him. If she had some sort of subconscious vibe about that…

"Better back up or you might just get your ass kicked, boy."

The door was in Sam's hand and he yanked the screen so hard he heard the spring snap, banging the door against the wall.

Emily was transfixed by the scene outside the window. There was a hardness to her face, a solid anger without one tinge of fear. Sam moved as her hand raised and he felt a rush of transparent power electrify the air.

"Emily! Stop!"

It was too late.

Sam heard the man scream as he got to Emily and pulled her hand down hard, jerking her away from the window.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 13

By: Suz Mc

"You can't hurt people! It's bad!"

The trance shattered with an almost audible crackle as Sam snapped out his words and dragged the little girl away from the window. Emily's mask of rage crumbled into shock as if she suddenly came back to reality; back to the child she was, when Sam deposited her in the center of the room.

"Stay here and don't move."

Sam rushed back to the window, dreading the sight of a human being consumed by flames.

_What the hell are we going to do? A burning fucking body. Dear God._

A voice was still screaming in pain so the man was alive.

His chest felt hollow as a relieved breath exhaled from his lungs. Sam jerked the blinds down so he could watch and shield Emily from their view. The pissed off redneck was hunched over, gripping his wrist and holding his hand out as if to display his injury. It was bad. His entire palm was burned, smoke still wafting up from the flesh.

"Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!" Redman was dancing around as if waving his wound in the breeze would help.

"Told you to git or you might get hurt. When you see fire, best back up or it might jump up and bite you, stupidass."

"You gonna help me or what?!" A burn like that was excruciating and the man was in so much pain he could barely stand. Must have been the same kind of pain Emily had felt when Amora sizzled her arm back in Austin.

And she'd done it to someone else.

"Boy, you got one minute to get off my lot before I set my dog on you. Won't have to worry 'bout that hand 'cause Rumsfield, Jr. over there will rip it off for supper." Bobby just stared the man down and when he didn't move, he whistled sharp and quick. "Sic—"

"I'm going, asshole! I'm going."

The man was hurt, but he was alive. She hadn't killed him. Thank God.

When Sam turned back around, Emily was still standing where he'd ordered her to stand. Her little mouth was open and she was gasping in hard gulps of air. Sam found himself on his knees in front of her, his brain nearly as stunned as hers.

"He was gonna' hurt Uncle Bobby." Emily's voice trembled as she tried to explain.

"No, Emily. He wasn't. They were just arguing. Grownups do that."

"But…he was…"

"No. You're a kid and you don't always understand what's happening with grownups." Sam put his hands on her arms. It only made the shaking worse. "You can't use this thing. Not ever. You could hurt someone, kill them. You just can't."

The horror played across her bright red face as Emily's little girl mind latched on to the reality of what he was saying to her. The realization of what she'd done was a weighty burden, crushing the innocence out of her eyes and leaving desperation to replace it.

"Am I bad? Is that why the monster burneded up my mama?"

She was looking to him for an answer, even though Sam could see she'd already formed an answer herself.

_You can't hurt people. It's bad. _The words replayed in his head while he looked into Emily's broken, sad eyes. The very thing he'd tried to stop Dean from doing, the very words he'd made such a self righteous point of warning him not to use, he'd said. Bad. It was in her head and he put it there.

He tried to soothe it away, resting her little cheek in his hand and stroking her hair. "No, no, no, Emily. God, no. Don't ever think that. You are not bad. You're not."

It was too fucking late. One tear rolled down her cheek, solitary and solemn, saying she didn't believe him. Others followed that tear until his hand was dripping wet.

"Please don't cry."

Bad. It was out there, branded all around inside her head now because he'd thrown it out in his panic to stop her.

Sam was practically holding her up with his hand on her cheek when she squeaked out a desperate plea. "Please don't tell my daddy. He'll think I'm bad."

"No, sweetie. He'd never think that." Sam grabbed her close to his chest and felt Emily tangle herself around his neck.

"He won't love me no more. Please don't tell." It was a weak, wet whisper against his neck and he hugged her more tightly.

Don't tell. Don't let Dean find out. Don't let him know you're walking a road you can't possibly get off of by yourself. Don't let Dean, the one person whose love you can't survive without, find out you're dangerous. Oh God, did he understand that desperate need to hang on to the fantasy that Dean might not look at you and show fear because you could be a monster.

And most of all don't stop using your power because if you do something good with it everyone will forgive you for being a freak.

Emily was wrapped tightly around him now, arms and legs clinging, shaking and begging. "Pleasepleaseplease don't tell. I'll be good. Please don't tell my daddy on me. Won't love me."

His brain was telling him he had to tell. He had to tell Dean because this would make him realize he couldn't ignore this anymore and pretend Emily was just like any other preschooler. It would be wrong, epically stupidly wrong to keep this quiet after Emily had taken this to the next level. Most of all, Dean had a right to know about every breath his kid took and it would be wrong to keep this a secret.

Sam leaned his cheek against her hair and stroked Emily's back as she begged and pleaded until his shirt was soaked through.

"I won't tell, Emily. I won't tell."

Her body relaxed with those words and she whispered and cried some more, telling him thanks and that she'd be good and she was sorry all jumbled into one rambling sentence that made him break a little inside.

"Promise never to use it again, Emily. You have to promise. I know how hard it'll be not to, but you can't ever do that again." Sam pulled her back, setting their private conspiracy in motion. Her tiny nose was red and her eyes were going to be puffy for a while. "Em, I know how this thing feels inside you. I've got something like it in me and it wants to come out, but the longer you keep it stuffed away and don't use it, the easier it'll be. I know you don't want to hurt anyone."

"It feels big." Emily's lip was wrinkled as she tried to hold it still and communicate a feeling she couldn't understand. Either she meant it was too much to handle or she meant it made her feel strong. Sam couldn't be sure which.

Sam grabbed the end of his shirt tail and swabbed her face dry. "I know it does. But you're bigger. You can be bigger than it is."

"Promise you won't tell on me?"

Damn, she wanted it notarized and signed in blood.

It was his last chance to back out of his vow and he looked into Emily's face and saw everything he'd felt his whole life. Not right. Different. Freak. Monster.

"I promise."

She believed him and gave a weak smile. The breath stuttered a little in her chest as she tried to switch gears back from her breakdown.

If he was going to keep this promise he'd better get his damage control in gear. "Okay, go upstairs and wash your face, sweetie. Come back down to the kitchen and we'll eat ice cream."

"Not supposed to have ice cream before lunch." Sam could see her visibly relax as the subject changed and she realized that the world she'd built around her daddy wasn't going to crumble after all.

"Yeah, well, we are." Sam stood up and rubbed one hand over her head. "Go on upstairs and I'll have it ready when you get back." He forced a smile to his face. "We'll look up Kansas on my laptop and I'll show you what it looks like. Sound good?"

Emily nodded, smiling to mirror his, and then climbed the stairs.

Sam did a quick check out the window to be sure no one was on the way to bust their big secret wide open. Bobby was still burning trash, flames climbing high and hot from the barrel. If he'd had any notion that Emily had made those flames suddenly leap high and wide to burn that guy, he would already be inside. Dean's music was blasting loud and metallic from the garage, so there was little chance he'd even heard the ruckus Emily's victim had made.

Emily's victim. He choked a little on that one. Asshole that the guy was, he'd been the victim of a furious child trying to protect her family. The guy would never have a clue how lucky he was to be alive. One spark to his clothes instead of his hand and he'd have been a campfire. Sam swallowed hard and tried to force that image out of his mind. _Get it out of your head or they'll see something happened._

He checked up the stairs and heard water running in the bathroom, then Sam, demon crushing power in his hands, uncle to a child of light and fire, and big fat liar, went to get ice cream.

***

Lounging on the beach with your trophy wife was one self indulgent way to spend the afternoon. John was certain of one thing; having your wife eternally twenty-eight when you had considerably more miles on your sorry ass did have a grand effect on the old ego. It was shallow, but what the hell.

"Of all the ideas you've had for us since you got here, John Winchester, this has to be the weirdest thus far."

Mary sipped on her margarita and lolled her head back against the lounge chair he'd had all ready and waiting for her. She was looking good in a very un-motherly bikini, another John Winchester idea.

John reached into the cooler between their chairs and pulled out a cold one. "What's so weird about a trip to a beautiful sandy beach?"

"You on it, that's what." Her eyes were closed and she shook her head in disbelief. "The one time we went to the beach, you hated it. Said sand in your crack was not romantic and you refused to play your part in the 'Here to Eternity' reenactment I had planned."

"Aren't you glad you get to spend eternity with an older and wiser husband?" He switched hands with his beer and reached out to grab one of Mary's.

"Older, maybe." A smile broke over her face and she squeezed his hand, swinging it between them.

"Good thing you're hot because your comedy sucks."

They sat in silence for a long while and John gave a mental thanks to his granddaughter for introducing him to Galveston. This whole deal was working out great. For once, he'd figured out how to make everybody happy and it made him feel whole again, like he could mend all those broken threads.

"So, I take it whatever was occupying all your time is taking care of itself now?" She didn't look his way, just kept watching the water and sipping. "I know you were watching."

Watching. She knew he'd been watching. Okay, he'd own that much. "Yeah, but I don't have to watch anymore." It wasn't a lie. Being guardian in Emily's dreams was protecting her and he felt like he should leave the days to her father. So, he wasn't watching. No lie.

"Good. Now when you're ready to tell me about the rest, I'll be here and that's the last I'm going to say about it."

Son of a bitch. He'd had such high hopes for getting laid on this beach. "I'm not lying."

"Yes you are and you suck at it."

"I've been told I'm pretty good at it."

"By amateurs. Not by me."

"Can we not do this? Can we just keep this conversation for another time?"

"As long as it doesn't fall between nine p.m. and six a.m. their time, right?" Mary just let it all sit there between them, as if she was waiting for him to struggle in the trap she'd set. "You're not lying about the watching, but you're doing something at night and I just wanted you to know that I know you're still meddling and when you have to deal with the consequences, I'll be here. Subject closed."

The sun was hot on his skin and he could feel himself getting hotter form the inside out. "Mary, I—"

"Shh." Mary pulled his hand close to her and kissed it warm and quick. "I know you and I know your intentions are born from love of your family and that blinds you, John. I won't pressure you again, because I know you're going to go down this road no matter what I say. I just hope it works out okay for that little girl and for you."

In all the years he'd known her before they were married, in all the years they were married, and in the years he'd been here in Paradise with her, John had never known her to back down on anything. Mary was resigned to the fact that what she knew would come to pass was on its way and she couldn't stop it. It rattled him just a little to see her let go of the reins and let him run.

"It's awfully quiet here. Would have thought you'd have dreamed up some pretty sunbathing girls for scenery."

"That stings, Mary. What kind of pervert do you take me for?" The idea of getting laid on the beach was resurfacing.

"The best kind."

In the time it took to drop a margarita in the sand, Mary had taken up a very unladylike position straddling his lap. There was no more lecture, no more establishing her moral position as opposed to his. Just Mary being with him where no one could separate them.

She waved a hand to create her own magic of a cabana and a comfortable bed and he forgot everything that wasn't her skin on his.

TBC.


	14. Chapter 14

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 14

By: Suz Mc

It had taken quite a few websites showing wide open golden fields and the wonderful world of Lawrence for Emily to give up the notion that Kansas may not be in color. After she'd come downstairs and sucked up a bowl of ice cream, the near disaster that had happened a mere sixty minutes earlier was behind them. She'd been wary at first, had asked him no less than five times if he was mad and every time Sam had answered, "No," and given her a squeeze.

The look in her eyes at the moment she'd flung out her power and made a flame slap against her victim's hand had set him back a few years. It had been full of determination, of conviction. Emily saw everything in the black and white of a child. Someone threatens someone you love, you stop them. Period. Sam found himself strangely coming at this problem from both sides – the sympathetic former monster and the defender trying to stave off a metamorphosis.

They had a secret now. If Dean hated Sam keeping secrets, he would blow sky high at Sam having a secret conspiracy with his daughter.

"Can we make Daddy lunch?" The sweetness in her voice made the violence of before seem like it had happened further back in the past than just one hour ago.

"Sure." Sam got up and helped her make a sandwich for Dean and he grabbed a beer, telling her he'd have to carry the grown up drink for her. Emily snagged a bag of chips off the counter and they were on their way. It was normal, everyday activity. The kind of normal thing that smoothed away the abnormal.

Sam followed Emily out into the yard as she searched for Dean only to find him waist deep under the hood of the GTO. One of Dean's hands was groping blindly for a tool just out of reach when he reared upward and smashed his head on the hood with the painful clunk of metal against bone.

"Shit!"

Dean stumbled out from under the hood, clutching the back of his head with one hand, eyes pinched shut to keep his eyeballs from bulging out.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT!"

"That's not a happy word," Emily said, a seriously stern expression on her face as she tugged on Dean's shirttail.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam gasped out between bites of laughter, "that's definitely not a happy word!" That laugh was just what he needed to wipe away his guilty conscience.

"No, sh—joke, Sam, and that's because I'M NOT HAPPY!" Dean leaned back against the car, still rubbing the back of his head. He reached his other hand down to rest on Emily's hair.

Dean's busted head and Dean being busted for cursing by a little girl was the best laugh Sam had had in a while. "Emily, he knows lots of not happy words. Don't you, Dean?" He couldn't stop laughing and the more it pissed Dean off the funnier it was.

"Bite me, Sam!"

"Are you mad?" Emily had taken Dean's hand off of her head and was giving him a comforting pat.

"No…yes…Sometimes grownups say stuff like that." Dean let his head loll backward and tried to settle his scrambled brain.

"I know. Mama's friend Eric said that at me."

Sam saw his brother's attention to his own throbbing head shift downward. Dean's knees bent sharply and he dropped down to Emily's level, intent on getting more of the story of this Eric and why he'd been cursing at a little kid.

"Who's Eric?" The tone of Dean's voice was part jealousy part curiosity.

Emily launched into her tale, four-year-old oratory skills stumbling over four-year-old language and perception. "Mama's friend Eric. They were 'posed to have a long date, but my babysitter got the kissin' disease. Mama said I could come to the big restaurant. Eric didn't like me and said the bad words."

Dean's expression rolled into darkly pissed and the mysterious Eric should be glad he wasn't within ass kicking distance. "So, did you see this Eric often, Cutie Pie?"

"Nope." Emily shook her head while plopping down on the ground beside her father's knees. "Eric told Mama,'What's this shit, Calley?!'" She made her voice a bit lower and knitted her eyebrows together, trying to mimic an annoyed grown up expression. "Eric said 'duck this' and Mama told him 'screw you buddy,' and we went to Chuckie Cheese and talked'd about the not happy words."

"Eric sounds like a jerk." Dean pulled Emily up into his lap, smack to the head long forgotten. "Good thing your mama was so smart."

"Do you know all the not happy words, Daddy?"

"He sure does, Em," Sam said, enjoying Dean being body slammed for his profane artistry once again. "Dean even knows some in other languages. He's a Not Happy Word dictionary."

"Shut up, Sam!"

"That's not a happy thing to say to your brother, Dean."

Dean held one hand up to cover his face from Emily's view and mouthed, "Fuck you," in Sam's direction.

"He's right, Daddy. Shut up's not happy."

Dean pinched his eyes shut and took in a long, deep breath of defeat. It was hilarious to watch Dean try to worm out of the verbal trap Emily had sprung up around him.

"I was just kidding with Sam when I told him to shut up. I tell him that all the time. In fact, I'm doing him a favor by stopping him from saying more stupid things than normal."

"Uncle Sammy might get his feelings hurt." Emily glanced over toward Sam as if to comfort him possibly bruised feelings.

"Yeah, Dean. It hurts my feelings."

"See, Daddy."

"Sammy, stop helping."

"You should say you're sorry."

"Yeah, Dean. Tell me you're sorry and I might feel better."

"Why don't you just go su--."

Sam held up one finger and sliced off the multitude of not happy words before his brother had a chance to spew them in his direction. Emily was still concentrating of her father's face as Dean scrubbed one hand from his forehead to his chin, groaning the whole distance.

"Daddy, is that a headache face?"

"Yes."

"Do you really know all the not happy words?"

"A few."

"Are you gonna say 'em?"

"Probably all at once in about three seconds," he mumbled under his breath before turning Emily around to face him. "Okay, kiddo, first of all, sometimes grownups say words kids shouldn't say and if you aren't sure about some of them, just ask me."

"Is bastard a bad word?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"Lizzie at pre-K said that's what I was 'cuz I didn't have a daddy but she was wrong 'cuz I do."

Dean swallowed hard and smoothed Emily's hair back with his palm and forced a smile over his anger. "That's right, you do have a Daddy so she was wrong. What did your mama say about what Lizzie told you?"

"She said it was an ugly word, but I wasn't that. Then she yelled at Lizzie's mama on the phone."

Sam remembered standing on the gravel road in front of Ellen's place with Dean. He could hear the desolation in Dean's voice when he told his brother that he wanted Emily to think she came from love, not from violence. Bastard. It was a stupid arcane notion of what made a child more or less valid that shouldn't even matter now.

"I bet she did." Dean was totally focused on Emily's face and figuring out just what he was supposed to say to her. Sam watched his brother puzzle through it, amazed at the gentleness that was just as much a part of him and the brutality. "Emily, words people throw at you, don't matter. All that matters is that you know what's right and what's not. Okay?"

"Okay."

Emily didn't have to puzzle through any of Dean explanations. He spoke. She believed. Period. If Dean had seen her earlier, falling apart as she begged Sam not to tell her daddy about what she'd done, he'd realize the god-like power he had over Emily. It was the same power John Winchester had held over Dean, over both of them for a time.

"Is that for me?" Dean was pointing toward the bag in Emily's hand.

"Oh yeah! Made it all myself and Uncle Sammy has the grownup drink."

Dean held up his hand and caught the beer can Sam tossed into his grip. "This is awesome." He inspected the bag and hugged her close in thanks. "Let me finish changing out these plugs then I'll dive in."

Dean eased her off of his lap and pulled himself back up off the ground using the GTO as a crutch. Looking down at the little girl he said, "You want to stay out here for a while and help me?"

"Yeah!"

Emily was at her father's knee, reporting for duty and Sam decided this was his cue to exit.

"Hand me that spark plug over there on the barrel."

"Huh?"

"The thing with the white middle."

"This?"

"Yes, ma'am. Perfect."

Sam couldn't help but be amazed at the way a little kid could switch gears. Sixty minutes ago she'd tried to smite someone and begged her uncle not to tell. After his promise, all was forgotten. It never occurred to her that he might lie and tell anyway. It was a heavy burden, that kind of promise, especially since he knew down deep in his gut he shouldn't keep it.

But desperation is sympathetic to desperation. Back in the days before Dean knew anything about the demon blood fiasco, Sam remembered that all consuming need to keep him from knowing just how bad it had gotten. Dean knowing about his psychic crap, as he'd called it, had been bad enough. He'd looked at him differently, cautiously, sometimes like he was afraid of him. That was why he'd lied over and over until he'd been caught expelling a demon, lied again until his own hunger had driven him to drink demon blood out in the open in front of Dean and a room full of innocents.

Emily's words kept haunting him. "He'll think I'm bad. He won't love me anymore." That was it in a nutshell. He'd lied for the same reasons. Emily was beginning to grasp the idea that what she was doing might not be right, but she was a kid and impulse control wasn't in her favor.

Once Sam opened his mouth and told Dean that Emily had shot a tongue of fire out at that loudmouth and burned him intentionally, not to protect herself and not to kill a demon, God help him there would be no going back. She'd made a shift from randomly flinging power out of terror or self preservation. Emily had made that connection between her abilities and the rush of being the hand of justice. That kind of strength had an appetite that grew bigger and bigger until you didn't really know the difference between justice and vengeance.

He was going to have to be a liar. He was going to have to betray that trusting little girl who'd cried against his neck and begged him not to tell. But he wasn't going to do it right now, not in front of her. Uncle Sammy was going betray her behind her back so he didn't have to look at her eyes when he did it. There would be time for his backstabbing later so he left.

The tail end of Dean and Emily's conversation followed him down the driveway and Sam turned his ear a bit more toward where he'd left them so he could catch them talking. All the bad Sam was feeling, the ache that was pulling him down, seemed to ease. The longer he listened, the bigger his smile stretched. It was weird to feel that amused and that confused at the same time.

"Is some-of-a-bitch a bad word?"

"Yes, and don't say it.'

"You said it yesterday. I heard you."

"Yeah, but—"

"Are you gonna say it again?"

"Probably, but I'll try not to say it so much when you're around. How 'bout that?"

"_Yeah, good luck with that one, Dean." _Sam reached the house, let the screen slam behind him, and gave them some privacy.

***

All that was left to go on the car was a bit of fine tuning and all of Dean Winchester's Ass Kickery would be fully functional under the hood of the GTO. Easiest money he'd ever made. Hell, he'd even done a couple of tweaks to the guy's weapons rack for free. He'd never done these kinds of things for anyone else and sure as hell had never gotten paid for it. It beat the hell out of risking your neck hustling pool with bikers.

And his kid had made him a sandwich.

They were sitting in the shade under Bobby's garage, radio humming in the background, while Dean ate the fattest PB&J in the history of mankind. Emily was babbling away about the pictures of Kansas on Sam's laptop and sadly she was no longer saying "Cans-ass" and it wasn't nearly as funny. Sam had convinced her Kansas was indeed in color and she was satisfied with that. In between her lecture on how Lawrence wasn't as pretty as Austin but it was still pretty, she would stop and promise that she'd be good in Kansas, like they wouldn't let her in unless she did.

After Sam had left them alone, there had been this wary weird vibe coming off of Emily, like she couldn't get close enough to his leg and she kept hugging him at random intervals. Not that he minded, there just seemed to be something a little frightened about her. But it had eased up after a while. He'd gotten accustomed to these waves of shaky nerves Emily would go through during the day.

"Grandpa John likes pretty girls just like you." Emily dropped that out there in between crunching on a potato chip.

"Most guys do." Grandpa John, again.

"Did you like my mama 'cuz she was pretty? She was."

Was. For the first time, Emily was referring to her mother in the past tense. It was sad, but it had to be a good sign that she was accepting Calley's death.

"Your mama was very pretty." Not a lie. Calley was pretty.

"What did you and my mama do when you know'd her?" She was up in his lap now, right up in his face, so close if he flinched she was going to see it.

So began the tale he'd have to put great effort into remembering. Keep it simple. Close to the truth as possible. "Well, we didn't know each other for very long, Cutie Pie. We listened to music and talked. I liked being with her, but not just because she was pretty." Dean took down a hard swallow while he tried to rebuild that night in Beaumont when he screwed a pretty girl until she cried because a demon made her look like she wanted it. To get through this, he'd have to let the truth and the lie live side by side in his brain.

"Mama sang with a band sometimes and she was a famous painter."

"Well, I've seen her paintings and some of them have your pretty face in them. I never got to hear her sing, but we did play pool." Sorta kinda close to the truth. "She was a sweet, beautiful lady and I miss her, too." The real Calley would have never, ever had anything to do with Dean Winchester. She would have been scared to death of him, in fact. That didn't matter, because he did miss her and he hoped that Calley had some peace now. Most of all, Dean was sorry he couldn't make what he was telling Emily be real.

"You musta liked my mama 'fore she was ascared of boys."

"Scared of boys?"

"I'm not ascared of boys. I like 'em! But when Mama liked a boy sometimes she'd get scared."

"Of what, Emily? Did you see some guy scare Calley?"

"I dunno, but if a boy touched her when she wasn't ready she'd cry and yell and he'd never come back. I think some boy mighta' scared'd her before."

A whole battalion of guys had hurt and terrorized Calley and she never got over it and Dean had the honor of being the last, most memorable name on the list. He'd hoped that after Emily was born that Calley had at least been happy, had maybe had some warmth from someone who cared about her. Didn't look like that was the case.

"Did your mama ever have a guy she wasn't scared of?"

"Denver was nice, not like stupid Eric. I liked Denver."

"Who was Denver?"

"He played guitar and wanted to take us to Whyee."

"What's Whyee?"

"It's a island. You gotta go on a plane."

"Hawaii."

"That's what I said! Whyee!"

"Sorry, my bad. So this guy was going to take you and your mama on a trip?"

"Denver wanted to take mama to see a honeymoom in Whyee. Mama said no and he got mad mad."

Piecing together the truth of Calley's life from Emily's three foot high perspective was difficult but not impossible. Emily was smart and she remembered things from her own point of view, but that point of view told a pretty complete story. Some guy had wanted to marry Calley, wanted to take her and Emily on some great trip to Hawaii and be a family.

Calley just couldn't do it

"What did he do when your mama said no?"

"Mama was crying and he wouldn't let go and said why won't you talk to me. He didn't let go and mama stickeded him with a somethin' sharp. Denver left'd and never came back." She held both hands up in the air as if she didn't have a clue what any of it really meant and thank God she didn't.

Dean slipped one hand closer around Emily's tummy and pulled her a little closer in his lap. In spite of how selfish it felt, he was glad Calley hadn't married some guitar player. If she had, maybe that guy would be raising Emily. Bad for Calley, but good for Dean. Kinda summed up their entire four hour relationship.

"I'm sorry things didn't work out for your mama, Emily."

"We was gonna' go to Whyee just us, but we didn't get to. Can we go?"

"Maybe."

"OH!" Emily jumped and turned around to look up at him, eyes bright. "But we gotta look out for jellyfishes. I'm 'llergic just like you."

It was a what the fuck moment if he'd ever felt one. Emily turned away, back to her chips, like she hadn't just exploded a bomb right on the ground in front of them.

"How did you know I'm allergic to jellyfish, Cutie Pie?" There was an ice cold trickle making its way from his chest through his veins, that kind of numb shock when something you dread jumps up right in front of you.

"Grandpa John told me. Did you have ta' get a shot like me?"

"Yes. Yes I did."

"Shots hurt." Suddenly, Emily was giggling and off of his lap. "The puppies got out! Come 'ere silly puppies!" She ran toward the pups, scrambling to gather them in together. Conversations about frightened mothers and jellyfish were put away as she moved on.

Jellyfish. Fucking jellyfish had gotten into his pants and hurt like a mother. Having his pants cut off because of the swelling and being jabbed with a needle so his friggin' throat would open back up had been humiliating at first and scary as hell later. He'd never told a soul about that, certainly not Sam, because he didn't want to sound weak. A grown man being allergic to a bag of water with stingers felt weak on an epic scale.

Sam and Bobby's theory that this was all some invention in Emily's head to ease her fears and make her feel closer to him just didn't ring true. Bobby was going to say that since Emily was allergic, she just assumed he was, too. Bullshit. She couldn't make that leap and he knew it.

He just knew it.

Sam hadn't miss an opportunity to hint that Emily had some evil time bomb ticking inside her, like she was a suicide bomber waiting to explode inside the mall, and yet he and Bobby kept blowing off what was right under their noses.

"Emily." He was going to get her up in his lap and keep the questions coming until he had concrete, carved in fucking stone proof of something she couldn't possibly know if someone hadn't told her and then he'd figure out what was messing with her head and kick it the hell out.

His phone began to jump and rattle on the roof of the GTO and the puppies barked loud and excited at the noise.

"Shhh, puppies! Be good!" Emily was covered up in the pups now, sitting in the dirt loving them and Dean's phone kept ringing.

Shit. Dean took a look at the number. It flashed "Block Party Salvage" across the screen and he flipped the phone open and to his ear in one smooth motion.

"What's up, Ray?" Dean was doing a fine multitask while he tuned his ear to listen and kept processing thoughts of Calley and jellyfish and things that could invade a little girl's dreams and trick her into trusting them.

"You and Sam, you've got to get over here quick, Dean. Fucking shit is going crazy!" Ray's voice was ten degrees past panic.

"Slow down, Ray. What happened? Are the blocks still moving?"

"I think it's, well, it's trying to, shit!"

"Ray, can't decipher the code here, man. Take a breath."

Ray followed that instruction literally, then gave it another try. "Me and Camden were watching and it yanked one of the blocks, an old Chrysler, out in the air and dropped it square in the center of the lane, Dean. I couldn't fuckin' believe it! And there's wind blowing around and humming like some swarm around it and it's not stopping."

"Where are you?" Dean was moving, gathering up Emily under his arm and heading toward the house. She was giggling and telling him it tickled while he made double time back to the house.

"We're watching, man. I can't fucking believe this shit."

"Get the hell away from it, Ray. You guys get back in the house, behind those salt lines. We're on the way."

Dean tickled Emily just a bit to keep her giggling. "Cutie Pie, looks like you need to hang out with Uncle Bobby for a while."

"You going back to make that bad ghost girl go home?"

"Yeah, that's where me and Sammy are going." He got inside the backdoor and set Emily on her feet. "SAM! We gotta go!"

TBC

NOTE -- Pretty please take a moment to let me know what you think and feel, good or bad. I'm equal opportunity that way. Writers, no matter what they say, are feedback junkies. If they say they aren't, they're so lying. I vow that I will review every single piece I read from now until the Apocalypse – wait, change that!—until Dean stops the Apocalypse if you will. But if you can't, I do want you to know that I appreciate you reading the words and hope it touched something in you.

Love,

Suz Mc


	15. Chapter 15

Thanks so much to everyone who responded to my sad, pathetic plea for reviews. LOL! Y'all made me fee so much better. And, I also have Chapter 16 ready to post and I can be bribed to post quickly by reviews. :-) Hey, I'm not proud! I can be bought easily! Thanks so much to Zat and Mai for their support. And all of you who read and review and encourage, you're wonderful and make me want to work harder to give you better.

Oh, and hang on....things are about to get bumpy.

On with the show,

Suz

****************************************

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 15

By: Suz Mc

"It's gonna be all right, Cambo."

Dean couldn't help but be struck by how the sight of Ray Jacks comforting his big brother could be so odd and so touching at the same time. He and Sam had just walked on into Ray's office and the man had been so focused on calming his older/younger brother, he hadn't even looked up. Ray had to stretch his arm upward at almost a 180 degree angle to get high enough to wrap it around Camden's bulky shoulder. Camden looked white and scared, wringing the life out of a shop towel in his hands.

"I know it's scary, but wasn't that the damnedest thing to see? Maybe we shouldn't try to get rid of that bitchy ghost." Ray leaned over so he could look up into his brother's face. "Hell, we could hire her. She'd use less gas than the forklift. Ghost power gotta be green, right?"

"That's dumb, Ray." Camden chuckled and shook his gray head, relaxing his death grip on the towel.

Dean cleared his throat and knocked on the desk. "Everything okay? Well, except for the ghost flinging shit around, I mean." He nearly lost his balance when Sam shoved him hard in the shoulder. "What?!"

"You guys okay?"

Sam was all concern and softy and it didn't generally irate Dean so much, but they needed to get this shit over with so he could deal with his own problems with his own family.

"How 'bout we get to business? Which car did she jack, Ray?" Dean made himself comfortable on the desk and shoved Sam back when he tried to perch beside him. It wasn't going to tell them much. Sam hadn't found a link with any of the cars, but at least it gave them a point of reference.

"It's one of the wrecks from Beeman, '71 Chrysler LaBaron." Ray was headed over to his desk, plopping down in a chair and rolling quickly in behind his computer. "It's one I had a VIN for and," he waited for the screen to pop up, "here we go. It wasn't destroyed in a wreck, engine caught fire from some defect and they hauled it there and dumped it."

"Saw an insurance claim on this one. Car was registered to a single mom and caught on fire in a mall parking lot, no injuries. Owner and her family were all clean. Nobody dead or missing." Sam was hunched over Ray's head, like he was going to make the computer say something he didn't already know.

Ray leaned back, rubbing his eyes. "It's gotta mean something, right? I mean we were just standing there and all of a sudden the wind started blowing and the damn block just flew. The son of a bitch flew out to the middle of the lane and landed."

"Did you see the spirit?" Dean leaned back against the wall, cutting his eyes back over toward Camden, who was still silent on the other side of the room. "Dude, did you dream about that kid again?"

"Yeah, she was scary and loud, but she still won't let me see her." Camden's voice was small, almost like he was sorry he couldn't help. "I think she wants to, but maybe she's scared, too."

Compassion for a ghost. That was great for civilians, but it generally served to get the fuck in the way of the job. "Yeah, dude, you could be right."

"Isn't there something we can do to end this shit, Sam?" Ray was nervously shaking one of his knees. "It's getting more and more aggressive. We hadn't set foot in that lane when it all hit the fan this time. What if it branches out and hurts somebody bad?"

"Well, in a perfect world, I'd soak that LaBaron in salt and gasoline, then drop a match on it, which is all a lame ass LaBaron is good for anyway. Maybe your ghost would haul ass to the other side after that fireside chat."

"You think it would be that easy?" Ray perked up, like he had just heard the first good news in days.

"Ray, I need to go outside." Camden had gotten to his feet and looked considerably more steady than when they arrived.

"Go ahead, buddy. We'll be out in a few minutes." Ray smiled a big comforting grin at his brother. "Don't worry, we'll get this thing licked and everything'll get back to normal soon."

"I know, Ray." Camden smiled back and made his way outside, closing the door with a soft click.

Ray waited to be sure Camden wasn't going to come back inside, then said, "That bitch has kept him up for three nights. He's really shook up, so we gotta get this done. Salt and fire you said?"

"Not that easy, Ray." Sam cut a sharp glance at Dean, like he was smacking him around for giving a civilian false hope. "The spirit's not going to let us get in there to soak the wreck enough to be sure we took care of any remains that may be in that car and she's not showing herself so we can figure out why she's still lurking around."

"Oh."

"What about the summoning spell you found in—" Dean clamped his mouth shut before he said "Bobby's book." Bobby had made it clear he didn't want the Jacks to know about his secret life of hunting spooks. "—that research you did?"

"Gotta have the full name, Dean. Won't work without it."

"Mind clueing me in on what the hell you're talking about?" Ray's fake smile for Camden's benefit had faded fast. "If you got the ghost's name you could make her show and get her out?"

Sam was flipping through some notes he'd jammed into the back of John Winchester's broken journal. Sam had gotten possessive of the journal over the years, adding nearly as many entries as Dad had left behind originally. "Here it is. If we have the name, we can make her show herself and at least talk to her. Maybe she'll let us in on why she's here and what she wants."

"Her unfinished business?"

"Exactly."

They had been given a name, only Sam couldn't verify it. They'd worked on shakier intel before. "Sam, you could try the name we have." He wasn't about to out Emily's dream weirdness to Ray Jacks, so he tiptoed around it.

Sam looked back at him, shaking his head. "Dean, I couldn't match that name to anything concrete and we can't waste this."

"What? You guys have a lead?" Ray was sounding way too hopeful and Sam shut him down quick.

"No, Ray, we thought we had a lead, Anna Lee, but I can't tie it to anything concrete and I'm not even sure if it's a full name."

"Can't you just try it?"

Okay, Dean was sure he should have kept his mouth shut until Ray was out of earshot. "The summoning spell can only be done once in any location and if we waste it on the wrong name, well, then we're screwed." Sam was right. Shit, he hated that so much.

"Oh." Ray's disappointment was evident and he leaned back hard in the chair, rubbing his red eyes.

"Okay!" Dean smacked his hands together to break up the ghost tutorial. "Now that we know what we can't do, how bout we go out there and see if the brat will talk to us since she's in the middle of a tantrum?" He was on his way out the door. He'd lost his patience with this screwing around and he was sick of the spirit calling the shots. There was shit of his own to be taken care of and this ghost needed to get on with being dead.

"That worked out like a dream last time, huh, Dean?" Sam didn't even try to hide his stupid giggle so Dean made sure to let the door swing back into his face as his response.

The wind had picked up since they'd come inside and the dust made Dean's eyes water. A strong scent tickled at the edge of his senses, not catching hold until the breeze dropped down a bit. The gas pump for the yard sat over in the corner beside the fence and the smell got stronger as they got closer.

Sam had evidently noticed the smell, too. "Ray, is your pump leaking?"

The older man was already walking over to inspect the pump and he levered the nozzle out of the rack. "I don't think so." He looked down at a few drips of gasoline that had splattered in the dust, then to a square indention in the dirt. "The can's gone." Ray hesitated a second, focusing on the path that lead into the maze.

Then Ray went from dead still to a frantic full sprint, passing the brothers and screaming as he went.

"Camden! Don't! Get back here right the fuck now!"

****

He'd almost missed it. After running up the path to check on Emily, he'd been out of breath and it had taken a few minutes to get into some state of calm that would let him tap into Emily's world.

Yeah, he'd lied inside his head that he wasn't going to watch anymore, but so what?

John had hung out on the beach, loving it up with Mary for a very, very long time. She was so fucking on to him, but Mary had made it a point to make love to him long and slow. Her initial anger was gone. Mary Winchester had spoken her peace and counted to ten and it had the distinct feel of feeding out rope for someone to hang themselves with. When he'd eased out of bed, which was pretty damned difficult to do when you were leaving a woman like that behind in her au natural glory, John was ready to defend his position. He didn't have to, though. Mary just looked up at him with this melancholy smile and said, "See you later, baby."

Boy, he was glad he'd run it, because Emily was shootin' out z's like crazy, passed out and napping on Bobby's couch. The old guy had tidied up the place considerably since John had spent live-time there, even had some big flowery throw draped across the beat up sofa for the kid to lay on.

Emily's inner demon didn't generally give her much trouble during naptime, that bitch seemed to like the dark, but John didn't see any reason to wait. He'd promised her a snowman so here they were.

"UGH!" Emily had just done a header into an enormous snowball she was rolling to make the base of her snowman. She burst upright, shaking snow off of her hat and coat and laughing like it was the most amazing thing she'd ever done.

"Need a hand, baby girl?" John was already crushing together a new snowball so she could start again. Emily ran over to his side, puffing out cold foggy breath in her excitement.

"Snow is AWESOME!" She wrapped around his leg, a bright pink bundle of coat and mittens. She was happiness squared and it was all because they were slogging around in snow that was up to their ankles. When her beautiful little face tilted up at him, with her nose and cheeks red from the cold, he knew he was doing the right thing. For both of them.

"That so? I thought the beach was awesome." John got down on his knees and helped her get started again.

"Everything is AWESOME!" Emily took off with the snowball, rolling it around in the drifts of white that just kept replacing themselves as the little girl pushed on through. "I wanna make it biiiiiiggggggg!"

It was hilarious to watch her scoot around with her snow-damp butt in the air, living it up. John spent the next little while being ordered around by a four-year-old, building a made to order snowman. Of course, Emily was too short to stack the body parts, so he hefted them up until it was all just so.

John lifted her up to apply the standard snowman accessories of carrot nose and charcoal eyes and top hat to complete her creation. The little girl squealed and clapped and hugged him some more.

"A proper snowman needs a name. How 'bout Frosty?"

She looked at the snowman hard, chewing on the corner of her lip to focus her thoughts then said, "Nope. His name is Bobby."

Bobby the snowman. Too bad he didn't have a knife for him to carry and holy water for him to spray. As John conjured up a trucker cap to replace the formal head gear Bobby the Snowman was wearing, he wondered if it was possible to bless snow and make it into holy water. Visions of a demon set to smoke from a snowball fight actually made him chuckle.

"Bobby it is. Looks just like him." John pulled her cap down closer over her ears. There was a picnic table close by, so he settled them both with something warm to drink so they could admire Emily's very first snowman ever.

"Daddy said some-of-a-bitch is a bad word."

John nearly sprayed hot coffee out across the snow field. Gulping it all back in, he tried to stay straight faced. "Well, he should know. It's his favorite."

"Yeah. It's a not happy word." She sipped on her hot chocolate, staring at the steam coming off of it.

The mention of Dean brought something else to mind. "Did your daddy and Uncle Sammy take care of the ghost?"

"Nope. Ghost girl still misbehavin'."

Damn. He thought those boys would have sense enough to use the summoning spell once they had the name.

"Did you tell them her name like I told you to?"

"Yep."

Maybe Dean was just too overloaded with Emily and sorting things out to put it together. They'd get around to it. "Okay, well then we'll just have to leave it to them."

The hot chocolate disappeared into Emily and she fell strangely quiet. One of her arms was hugged tightly around his neck and he watched as her expression grew more and more serious. "Is something coming, Emily? You know you don't have to be scared with me here. If there's a monster coming, I'll take care of it."

"I did something bad."

Whatever it was, it was a heavy weight for her. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

Her only response was to shake her head no and look down, so John put down his coffee and put both arms around her. "That's okay, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Usually, if you do something bad, if you say you're sorry, it'll be okay. Did you do that?"

"I told Uncle Sammy I was sorry."

Okay, she had some little kid dust up and she felt bad. When Dean was little, he had a tendency to blow every incident from a smoke bomb into Hiroshima. "Well, then it's fine. Don't you worry about it."

"Love you, Grandpa John." Her hug was tighter than usual and he just let her hang on for a while, until she whispered in his ear. "You love me, too?"

"Always, baby girl. Always."

"Promise?"

"Promise." That promise ease up her grip and John set her feet back on the ground. "Now, Emily, I'm going to teach you the fine art of snowball making so that you can annihilate your Daddy during the first snow in Lawrence."

"Awesome!"

And it was.

TBC

***


	16. Chapter 16

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 16

By: Suz Mc

It's only a myth that disasters seem to happen in slow motion. Sam was watching this particular nightmare go down in fast forward while he and Dean ran full speed to catch up to Ray Jacks racing toward his brother.

"Get out of there now!" Ray's wire thin body disappeared briefly around a corner, but his screams snaked back behind him as he pleaded with his brother to get away from the one place on this earth that wouldn't welcome him.

Sam felt Dean cut him off short as the rounded the corner to find Ray struggling with the gate, trying to get into the space holding a crushed Chrysler, a pissed off spirit, and a simple guy with a gas can. The chain link gate rattled as Ray tugged at the thick chain holding it in place with a heavy padlock.

"Bring me that fucking key, Camden! I mean it!" He kicked hard against the gate, only managing to rattle the welds.

"Don't worry, Ray. I got it!" Camden smiled from his place near the back of the metal block as he raised a match to toss at the ghost's new play thing. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and the empty can was tossed over in the corner of the corridor. Crystals of salt clung like glitter over the wreck and over the sand at Camden's feet.

"Dude! Get out of there! You won't get it all this way!" Dean was yelling as he tried to help Ray tug open the gate at the same time. It wasn't going to open and they all knew it. It was enormous, way too tall to jump.

Dean and Ray heaved frantically at the gate as Sam fumbled for his gun. He grabbed Dean's arm to pull him back, then hollered, "Move! I can shoot it out!" But in the same instant Dean was right up in his face, shaking his head, shouting to make himself heard over Ray's cries. "Can't! It'll ricochet, hit him or you! Pick it!"

A rumbling buzz began to rattle the air around them. It was a warning shot being fired over their heads by the spirit.

Lock picks in hand, Sam dropped to his knees, wiggling the lock around to get access while Ray's orders escalated into impassioned pleas. "Camden, please, come over here and open the gate."

"I'll fix it, it won't bother me, Ray. I'll do it just like Dean said. Salt and burn!"

"You're just going to piss it off, Dude! Get out of there!" Dean's fingers were still tangled in the links, his voice as desperate as Ray's.

Before Camden could toss the match, Sam watched the situation go from bad to completely fucked in a nanosecond. A swirl of raw dust and gasoline roared into life around the mangled block and tossed Camden against the back wall. He sprawled against the wall, stunned and covering his eyes with one hand to stop the sting of dirt blasting against his face.

They had ignored the warning buzz the spirit had offered and now it was all rolling downhill fast, seconds clicking away toward disaster. The thin picks slipped through Sam's fingers in the roaring sand storm and he groped blindly in the dirt to find them, scrabbling around trying to get them back in his hand.

Dean grabbed Ray's arm, shouting over the deafening sounds around them. "We're going over the top! I'll brace you."

Ray jammed the toe of his boot into a hole in the chain link, struggling upward, focusing on his goal without waiting for any help from Dean at all. The metal frame vibrated, shaking his feet loose as he reached the top. Ray clutched desperately at the uppermost links, losing his grip until Dean finally grabbed his ankle, getting a kick in the face for his pains, and heaved the man up over the top to vault over into the lot. Dean didn't even pause to wipe away the blood streaming from his nose. He launched himself at the fence, hands reaching, feet flailing to push himself up, boots paddling in mid air as he finally sailed over, only to be pounded to the ground by a foot long hunk of chrome fender breaking free from the car and slamming into his stomach.

"Dean!"

Sam was still digging around in the dirt for the picks when Dean stopped him with a rough bark. "Get up on that wall! We'll get him, you pull him up!"

Dean had to fight to make the words come out of his mouth since the chunk of debris had nearly slapped the wind out of him. He pointed frantically to the top of the block wall and Sam used the gate to climb high enough to get to the top.

Camden was sobbing, a terrified wail against the wind, groping out with one hand for some help. Ray struggled through the maelstrom of metal shards breaking off of the car as the wind amped up into hurricane force. The blocks beneath Sam's feet rattled in concert with the storm that raged below in the corridor and he had to struggle to keep moving. There was no damn way he was going to lift Camden's enormous bulk up onto the wall and out of that hell hole without Dean and Ray boosting him at the same time. Maybe if the guy would try to climb, Sam could help him.

When it all goes to hell, it goes fast. The storm turned suddenly thick, stronger and sharper with sand and metal and lifted the block off the ground to hover first two then five then ten feet up in the air. Sam stretched out on his belly, reaching a hand down toward Camden. A familiar pain began to ping against his flesh and he recognized it as the stings he'd felt before.

Ray had struggled his way over to grab hold of Camden's shirt in one fist. His face was bleeding from contact with the shrapnel beating against them all. The roar of the storm drowned out whatever Ray was shouting at his brother. Neither one could hear or see Sam when he tried to reach them from above their heads.

The floating block waved around in the air, twisting and turning above their heads, showering its pieces over them all. It dangled atop the eye of the storm like a toy being jiggled in the breeze by a child. The invisible string began to swing back and forth pendulum style.

Sam made another grab for Camden or Ray, which ever shoulder was closer and it was near impossible to tell in the fog of dirt covering the area below his burning hand. He could make out Dean fighting his way toward them. The stings kept coming and he kept reaching until the second the floating block of mangled automobile flew through the air, unleashed toward the two figures below Sam's hand.

In the time it would have taken to snap his fingers, Sam watched as a large arm flung one of the bodies backward with an incredible force. Sam could make out the sound of Dean cursing above the clanking of metal as the airborne body connected with his chest. The jagged block crashed hard against the wall, mixing the sounds of cracked metal and breaking bone. The impact knocked Sam from the wall and his body bounced from the dislodged block then rolled off onto the dirt. Blind and stinging, he crawled toward where the dirt curtain was thinner, hoping it was near the gate.

"Let me go!" Ray's voice was piercing the hum of bees and clanking debris. When Sam's hand made contact with the gate, he could feel as much as see Dean's body beside him, struggling to keep hold of Ray Jacks and get them all out of the corridor.

The sharp stings were relentless to the point where he couldn't tell what pain was metal and what pain was from invisible stingers digging into his skin. Sam fumbled in his pocket, forgetting his picks were now buried by a drift of dirt and sand on the other side of the gate. By the time he remembered, Dean and Ray were leaning against his back, trying to get through gate as well.

"Sam, open that gate!"

Dean's body gave him a break from the constant attack of the slicing metal fragments so he could try to think.

_Fuck fuck fuck! _

Instinct took over and Sam grabbed the lock in his palm, trying to unleash the power that once lasered from his hand at will. Touching Emily's hand had brought back his taste for the use of it. Even Dean never knew the extremes he'd taken it to. Popping open this lock should be nothing and he ground his teeth hard together and tried to let it go only to feel nothing but frozen metal against the sweat in his palm.

Years of cramming the power into the back corner of his mind came back to bite him in the ass, his now impotent powers refusing more than a static wave of failure. The hypocrisy of what he'd just tried to do, of the seconds he'd wasted doing the very thing he'd made a shameful four-year-old swear not to do, mocked him and Sam threw caution to the wind and drew his weapon. He said a prayer and fired twice directly into the lock. By some too damn fucking late miracle, the bullets pinged harmlessly into the dirt outside the maze and as the lock split in two, and all three of them tumbled out through the chain link gate to safety in a dirty, bleeding heap.

All of the movement dropped into dead stillness the second the three men crossed the spirit's line in the sand. Metal fragments thumped to the ground and the popping stings and wind died away like a plug had been pulled somewhere.

"You can't help him, Ray!" Dean was still fighting to keep the man from rushing back inside after his brother. "You're gonna get yourself killed!"

"Cam! Answer me!" Ray got Dean's arms off and leapt to his feet. He'd have made it back through the gate if Sam's body hadn't been in the way to stop him. Ray wasn't a match for Sam's bulk or reach and all he could do was bob around him until he could get a clear view of his brother.

He stopped yelling.

The block had crushed Camden against the wall, effectively cutting him in half. The right side of his face was buried and smashed, blessedly covered by the corner of the block. One arm and one leg flung out loose and limp, blood seeping out from behind the metal pinning his corpse together. Camden's bright expression was rendered blank and dead from the force of that blow.

Ray's knees buckled and he landed back on the ground at Sam's feet, staring toward his brother's dead body in disbelief. It had taken less than five minutes to destroy the man's family. About the time it had taken for hell hounds to rip Dean to shreds. About the time it had taken for a guy with a knife to kill Sam. It was minutes, not hours or days, that severed the life you knew from the life you would know.

But Camden wasn't going to be coming back and Sam didn't know what to say. Dean wasn't saying anything so they just sat there in silence while Ray gave into the shock and didn't say anything either.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

I'm back!!!! Thanks to everyone who has been so patiently (or NOT patiently G) waiting for the update. Thanks to Zat, Mai, and Kady who each support me in different ways. Y'all are the best part of this fandom for me -- well, next to naked Dean fantasies of course, but you're a close second! :-)

Please, please, please let me know how you feel after you read. Reviews are always appreciated (desired, longed for, obsessed over, blah blah blah)

On with the fic,

Suz

***********************

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 17

By: Suz Mc

"Get out of my way, Sam! I'm not fuckin' leaving him in there." Ray hauled off and slugged Sam in the gut in an attempt to dislodge him from in front of the gate. The man's violent eruption startled both brothers after they'd stood over his shocked silence, watching him stare at his brother's corpse, for a very long time. Sam took the hit standing as Ray jolted from zero to sixty in the space of a breath.

Dean grabbed Ray's shoulders and jerked him back hard. Ray's age and rail thin arms were no match for Sam and barely drew a flinch, but dead brother or not, Dean wasn't about to let Ray whale on Sam to make himself feel better.

"Cool it, Ray!"

"Get off me, you son of a bitch!" Ray threw a wild punch that sailed over Dean's head as he ducked. "I'm not leaving my brother in there like he's…like he's…"

"He's dead, Ray. You can't help him." Sam grabbed Ray in a basket hold, and the man fought wildly against him.

"Fuck you! Just fuck you both, you bastards!" Ray kicked out hard with dusty boots, trying to land his foot in Dean's kneecap.

"Dude, you're gonna get yourself killed if you go in there for a corpse." Dean took a solid step back to be out of Ray's reach. The man's face and hands were bloody from fighting his way through flying debris to get to Camden.

"Don't you call him that!"

"Well, that's what he is, Ray. He's gone and you goin' in there is just going to give that spirit more cannon fodder." Dean could see the singular motivation traveling through Ray's brain as if there were a news crawl running across his forehead. _Get to my brother._ He understood that feeling, but he wasn't going to let the man die for nothing.

Ray strained against Sam's grip. "If it was your brother, would you let him rot out there? I'm not leaving him there like that." Ray's anger ran down his face in wide dirty tears that he didn't even seem to notice. A strong man reduced to raw feeling. The head of a family that didn't exist anymore.

"I wouldn't want him to die just to get at my dead body, Ray." Sam's voice was gentle, a weird contrast to the rough way he was forced to hang onto Ray Jacks body. "Camden wouldn't want that."

Dean couldn't help but catch Sam's eye as he dropped that pearl of wisdom, half as a warning to Ray and half as an FYI for Dean. Dean was a liar sometimes, but he damn sure wasn't a hypocrite. He'd be over that fence, crowbar in hand trying to pry Sam out of there so he wasn't about to chime in and agree.

"I'd probably do it, anyway, Ray, but it would be stupid and pointless because it wouldn't bring him back." Dean could give that much, as Sam gave him the stink eye for not following the script he had already written for Dean in his head. No, Camden wasn't coming back because Ray didn't have a copy of Crossroads for Dummies to show him how to jam his tongue down a demon's throat to get him back. Good thing.

Ray's muscles went slack along with his expression, but the tears kept running down his face. The lot was oddly silent in contrast to the raging wind swarm of invisible bees of moments before. Ray's ragged breaths echoed around them, eventually slowing. The man turned his head sideways and half whispered to Sam, "You can let me go."

Sam obliged and they all stood frozen, not knowing what to do. The what ifs were hanging there in the air. What if they'd made Camden leave before they started talking? What if they'd jumped the gate sooner? What if the universe wasn't so fucked up?

Soft pedaling with grown men wasn't Dean's style, but Ray had been slammed ten ways to Sunday. "Ray, even if you got in there and it didn't kill you, hell, there's a two ton hunk of metal on him. Unless you can Hulk out, dude, it ain't moving now." Dean rested on hand on Ray's shoulder. "Go inside for a while. Staying out here is just going to make you feel worse."

The man looked so much older and he felt smaller under Dean's hand. His eyes were glued to the ground, the only safe place for Ray to focus at the time.

"Okay." Ray's back was to the gory mess that used to be his brother and he stepped away slowly, purposefully keeping his head turned away. "Let me…uh…" He swallowed hard, scrubbing a rough hand down his face, smearing the dirt, blood, and tears together into his palm. "Let me just get another lock to keep that gate shut." Shoulders squared, Ray somehow got his feet moving away from them.

"I'm so sorry, Ray." Sam called the words after Ray, who just kept walking toward the other side of the maze.

Dean eased his way around Sam to stand against the gate, brushing shoulders with him as he passed. Dean felt bad, but Sam always felt worse. Always. Camden's body was still oozing apart against the crushed metal, just one of many he'd seen over the years. He was numb to it now. Not that he didn't feel bad for Camden. He did. Camden Jacks had survived bullets and scrambled brains and come through life making people around him feel better for knowing him and it sucked ass that some random invisible rage had taken that out of the world.

But mutilated corpses didn't affect Dean anymore and deep in his subconscious, he knew that something was stupidly jacked with that. Camden's busted up face wasn't nearly as bad as some he'd seen. He'd seen his own brother's guts spread out and rancid after ghouls had snacked on him. That was much worse, but he'd been able to look at Adam's body the same way – as just a thing. It didn't have shit to do with Hell, either. Dean had sorted out his own rule book for gore viewing in the pit. They weren't human, they were souls of the damned just like he was and even if he was scooping out the insides, it wasn't real. Separate play book, different game.

No, Dean Winchester's desensitization to blood and guts had happened long ago and it pissed him off how he'd had to give up that part of his humanity, even if it was necessary for the survival of a hunter's sanity.

He shoved the gate back into place, feeling Sam staring over his shoulder. Somewhere along the way, Dean had made a break between a body and a person. He'd had to. It wasn't always this way. When he was young, blood and gore made him puke and freak until Dad told him to get his shit together or drag his ass somewhere else where he wouldn't see. After that, Dean Winchester had stared at rotten exploded corpses and held his stomach in, choking it down to the point where he'd rather strangle on it than show that kind of weakness.

Practice made perfect. Now he could stare at the shredded remains of Camden Jacks and nothing at all rose up into his throat. It was like a sculpture or a painting made out of flesh and shattered bone, something to be studied. After all, it sure as hell wasn't living. What made Camden alive had been blasted out of him.

The last dead body to do Dean Winchester any measurable emotional damage had been Sam's, none since.

"What the hell do we do now, Dean? Camden shouldn't be dead."

Sam was sliding down his favorite amusement park attraction, the Guilt Rollercoaster. "And he wouldn't be if he'd stayed the fuck out of here like we told him to." Dean kept his tone firm and anchored in the facts.

"Don't blame him for this." Sam jerked the gate tightly into place, threading the chain back through.

"Don't blame yourself for this either. Hell, I'm the one who put the idea in his head." Dean wanted Ray to get back with that lock so they could all get away from here and regroup and stop wasting time with blame that wasn't going to do shit to reanimate Camden or gank the spirit.

Sam sucked in a ragged breath. "Not your fault, Dean."

"Okay, so shut up about it and let's figure this shit out." Dean slid down to sit in the dirt. He was sore from being smacked around by a dismantled LeBarron. Advil and some Jack would really hit the spot right about now.

Sam wasn't sitting. He was still zeroed in on Camden's dead body, riding that guilt right into the ground. "We should do the summoning ritual with the name we have."

"One shot, Sam."

"You got a better idea?" Sam gave up staring at teardrops of blood oozing from Camden's dead eyes and started pacing. "This thing is getting more and more aggressive and the angrier it gets, the more powerful it gets. What if it breaks out of here? I don't think we can wait."

"Well, write this down, Samantha. I think you're right." Dean reached his hand upward toward Sam and his brother yanked him to his feet. "Do you have what we need so we can git 'er done one way or the other?"

"Can't do it until midnight, but no, one of us has to go back to Bobby's and get the stuff."

"Of fuckin' course." Dean set to dusting himself off when the ground began to rattle up into his boots. He spun around toward the scene of the latest crime expecting to see wind and dirt grinding around in a circle, only to find everything still. "What the hell?"

Sam grabbed his shoulder and turned him toward the source.

Ray Jacks was motoring toward them inside the cab of an enormous yellow machine. The treads grabbed dirt, lumbering the vehicle forward with a huge metal arm jutting out in front. Ray was enclosed behind the thick glass cab of the crane, showing no signs of turning back.

"Son of a bitch has a crane?!" Dean had to scream the words as they ran toward Ray's machine.

Sam briefly did his Tiananmen Square reenactment, standing in the path of the oncoming crane only to do a leap and roll when Ray refused to stop. The machine ran forward with Dean pounding behind in the tracks left from its massive tires.

Dumbass civilians intent on throwing themselves into the grave were the most dangerous part of this damn job.

"Ray! Stop!" Sam was yelling in a pointless attempt to make himself heard over the roar of the crane's motor.

The machine slowed then bumped against the metal wall of the maze as Ray swung the arm around to balance over the block holding Camden's  
body parts together. The brothers hit the back of the machine at the same time, climbing toward the cab. Sam took Ray's side, pounding his  
fist on the glass and pulling against a locked door.

"Get out, Ray!"

Dean could hear Sam's voice as he shouted against the glass. He pulled on the opposite door, spitting a stream of not happy words when it wouldn't budge.

Ray Jacks ignored them both, dropping the crane's cable and jagged metal fist down to slap against the crushed metal block. The claw opened, tangling with the grooves and slots to grab hold. Ray shifted the levers inside, blatantly ignoring the two men pounding away on the other side of the glass.

At the moment of impact, the raging storm erupted again. Dirt, metal, and fury funneled up the cable tornado style, taking hold of the arm and jerking it downward. The entire machine angled forward as the spirit shook it like a Tonka toy. Ray was scrambled back and forth inside the cab, smearing blood over the glass where his nose smashed  
into the wall.

The machine tilted over, flipping sideways. Dean held on tight, trying to ride it to the ground. His voice was blowing back on him as he yelled for Sam to jump. When the crane tumbled over on the driver's side, all he could do was hang on and hope Sam's sense of self preservation was stronger than his hero complex.

The steel cable sailed out into the lot, grappling claw shattering as it smashed into the opposite wall of the maze. The cab rattled and rolled, being shaken apart by the spirit's pressure on the crane's arm. One hand fisted in the door handle was all that held Dean in place when the enraged spirit forced the entire vehicle to grind  
across the dirt, pushed away as invisible hands forced the crane's arm out of its own personal space.

Then it all stopped.

"Sam!?" Dean screamed for his brother, all the while trying to get Ray's door open. The lock flipped open from the inside, which meant Ray wasn't dead. "Sam?! Answer me, damnit!" Dean jerked open the door to find Ray bloody, but breathing and reaching upward for help.

"You don't have to yell." Sam was at his side, reaching long arms down inside the cab to help pull Ray up and out. "Easy. Grab under his arms."

Dean tugged Ray out into the open as adrenaline gave way to the cool blood feeling of intense relief spreading under his skin. Only one brother had died today and it wasn't Sam and he was grateful.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 18

By: Suz Mc

Ray Jacks did not have the look of a teetotaler, but his kitchen cabinets were dry as a bone. Dean was jerking back the doors looking for alcohol of any variety and coming up empty. Shit.

"Hold this ice on your nose, Ray. Are you hurt anywhere else?" Sam had practically carried Ray, limping and bleeding the whole way from the maze, into the small house he used to share with his brother. As the man had collapsed on the sofa in shock, Dean had left Sam to launch into his first aid gig, getting a blanket around Ray and checking him over like he was an ER doc. Sam was pretty beaten up himself, but he took care of civilians first. That was Sam's MO.

The Cartoon Network was blasting away on the television until, thank God, Sammy had sense enough to snatch up a remote from the coffee table and shut it down. The guy who watched cartoons around here wasn't coming back and Dean sure as hell didn't want to hear fucking SpongeBob as background noise while he tore Ray's kitchen apart looking for booze.

The refrigerator was booze free, too. Full of juice boxes and Gogurt. Kid food. Shit.

"Ray, really, man. Let me help you." Sam was perched on the coffee table, his knees jammed up way to high so he could sit right in front of Ray.

"I'm okay." It was just a mumble, all Ray could manage as he put the rag holding his ice back in Sam's hand. His body seemed to sink lower in the cushions and he stared out through the open window toward the maze.

Time to check the upper cabinets. Anything would do at this point. Jack. Mad Dog. Charter. Hell, Everclear would be welcome at this party.

"Ray, tell me what you need."

Sam was in full grief counselor mode. Elbows on those jacked up knees. Leaning in and talking a soft gentle voice that was like some invisible hug. Christ. Ray didn't need to get in touch with his damn feelings. He needed them gone for a while. Dean yanked open a small door to the right of the sink and things started looking up. Shot glasses. Fantastic. Where there were shot glasses, there was booze to shoot.

"Think you could keep it down in here?" Sam was at his shoulder, comforting whisper now changed to a hushed bite in Dean's ear. "What the hell are you looking for?"

"Something to put in these." Dean popped a couple of shot glasses onto the counter and kept searching.

"That's your solution? A booze scavenger hunt? Do you actually think getting Ray drunk is going to help him feel better? Haven't you learned anything?"

Dean pinched his eyelids tight to keep his eyeballs from rolling out onto the floor. "Here we go."

"Alcohol is a depressant, Dean. He just watched his brother die and I'm pretty damn sure he's already depressed. Ray getting sloppy drunk and being sick and hung over in the morning is only going to make him feel worse. If we really want to help him, we should blah, blah-blah, blah, blah-blah-blah—"

Dean shoved Sam out of the way, moving into the small pantry off to the side of the kitchen. Sam followed and droned on and on, long after Dean put his Sam-filter into effect.

"Blah blah-blah blah-blah-blah"

The lower cabinets were dry. Shit. Sam was still talking and dogging him like there was a pork chop around his neck. More boring diatribe on booze and covering up feelings, but not saying anything about how they'd both totally fucked up this hunt and gotten some nice gentle civilian flattened like a pancake. Sam really needed to shut up.

Dean slammed the door in his hand and got up in his brother's face. "Yeah, just say no and all that. Now shut up and help me find a bottle of something."

"This isn't the answer."

There was a sharp sting in Dean's gut when he focused on Sam's face. For a second, it was gray-white, lips tinted the color of dirty dishwater, looking dank and dead against a stained mattress in Cold Oak and he wanted a drink as much as he wanted to give Ray one.

"You don't even know the question, dude!"

Fucking mind reader that he was, Sam's take charge demeanor broke apart. There was something running across Sam's features at the moment, something Dean hadn't considered when his own psychic hurts had come back to haunt him as he'd identified whole heartedly with Ray Jacks.

"I watched you die bloody, Dean, so don't you dare tell me I don't understand how he feels."

Damn.

"Look, Sammy, I just—"

But Sam wasn't listening. He reached up high over Dean's head, putting his hand into the top shelf of the cupboard. With one bottle held tightly in his right hand and two bottle necks threaded through the fingers of this left, Sam pushed past Dean and deposited them on the kitchen table.

"Maker's Mark, tequila, and Jack. Triple crown, dude. Have at it."

Sam poured himself a shot and threw it back then took a seat at the table while Dean headed toward the crumpled figure on the sofa. Maker's was first. Should always start with the good stuff. Dean sat the shot glasses on the low table in front of them and poured them full.

"Here, Ray." He was carefully holding the glass in front of Ray. It was almost too full and Maker's was too good to slosh on old furniture.

Ray ignored the shot, slowly taking the bottle out of Dean's hand and sucking a long draw down his throat. He kept it cradled against his chest, resting his chin on the lip. The effort to keep lifting the bottle seemed to exhaust Ray even more as he got himself into a steady rhythm of drinking, swallowing, and staring grimly out the window toward his ruined life.

Casual was convenient, so Dean took a swig from the Jack Daniels bottle. It felt soothing saying hello to the Jack as it ran down his throat. Jack had been there in Cold Oak, had been there to keep post-hellfire nightmares at bay, well, until he didn't anymore and Dean had gotten his shit together enough to stand being sober. Two hits was his limit today. There would be driving and Emily and summoning coming up on the horizon so Dean put the bottle down, sliding it over in front of Ray is case he wanted to switch dance partners for a while.

It didn't take long for the liquor and exhaustion to warp Ray's reality. He was well on his way to unconsciousness, which was exactly where he should be heading.

"It's stupid that he's dead." Ray was talking down into the last of the Maker's, waiting for it to agree.

"I'm sorry, dude." He was talking to Ray, but looking at Sam.

Sam screwed the top back on the tequila and shoved it toward the center of the table, then gave Dean a quick smile. Sammy forgiveness was good for the soul.

Ray went on with his slurred babbling. "All he had to do was take two fucking steps backward. He'd...be alive. Needed me ta…talook out for him. All these years…" Ray gulped down another mouthful and scrubbed his face with his hand. The man was black and blue underneath blood and dirt. His nose was swollen and had to hurt like hell, but he never flinched when his palm crossed over it. "Made sure he took his meds. Whupped asses when they made fun of him. When it counted...screwed it up." He took hold of Dean's shirt with one rough, boney fist and took another drink. "Cam's dead 'cause he shoved me out of the goddamn way. He shouldn't 'ave done it. Stupid fuckin' waste. I screwed up. What am I supposed to do?"

Dean could taste those same words on his tongue. They'd come out of his own mouth while he sat beside Sam's dead body. What was he supposed to do? His one job, just like Ray. Look after my brother. But he hadn't screwed up any more than Ray had.

"Man, instead of being left to rot in a mental ward, you made sure your brother had a long and happy life. You gave him that, dude. He was giving something back to you, so don't you belittle what he did by saying his death didn't mean anything. He was saving his little brother. It meant something to him."

"Wish was me out there."

"Don't undo it, Ray." It was all under Ray's skin, crawling around under the shock. That urge to go try once more to get Camden's body like that might make this better. Dean took drink number two of his limit. "You go back out there before we settle this thing, Camden's death means nothing. You do him proud and keep living."

Ray turned up the bottle. Sermons weren't going to do much to help Ray Jacks tonight. Stupor would set a lot better with him. That goal in mind, Dean left his buddy Jack on the table so Ray could get ass over head drunk.

When Dean joined Sam back in the kitchen, his brother was jotting down notes on a pad, pretending he hadn't been listening to every word passed in the next room. Ray needed to process his grief and his booze on his own for a while, but he still needed watching.

"We got problems, dude." Dean rubbed his stomach, which was throbbing where he'd been slapped around by car parts.

"You okay?" Sam stopped writing and shoved the list across the table.

"Badass six-pack like this can take more than a hit from that clunker." Dean pulled up his shirt and patted the spot that was turning blue from the hit. "That's what a couple hundred sit ups a day gets you, Sammy."

"In your dreams." Sam looked half disgusted and half relieved to be able to ignore the intent behind what Dean had told Ray. "That's what we need for the summoning ritual. I'll call Bobby when you're on the way to be sure he has it all. There's some prep work he has to do that he won't be able to do before you get there to take over with Em."

Emily. Dean didn't want her watching ritual prep. Bobby would be making her dinner soon. He looked at Ray, who was barely holding his head up now, who was all alone in the world, and Dean really, really wanted to get home to his kid and see her before doing battle with that spirit again.

"Dean, what are we going to do about Camden?" Sam's voice was barely above a whisper, which wasn't necessary since Ray had begun to topple over and was probably drunk deaf by now.

"Camden's dead, Sammy."

"I know, but isn't there some way we can…I mean, he's just lying out there in the open."

"Don't you start, too. It's a body, not Camden, and you know it." Sam's reverence was getting the best of him. "Am I going to have to lock the two of you up so I can go get the shit we need without somebody else being dead when I get back?"

"All right." Sam held his hands up in surrender and hardened his voice a bit. "You're right."

"Well, duh. Think you'd know that by now and stop wasting my time with the arguing." Dean pushed up out of the chair and headed toward Ray. "Better get a bucket in case he pukes." When he got back to the sofa, Ray was barely conscious, which was a relief. He swung the man's feet up onto the cushions, trying to at least make his drunken escape comfortable.

"Dean?" Ray didn't bother to open his eyes, just grabbed out in the air for the tail of Dean's shirt.

"Yeah, it's me, Ray. You go to sleep. Sam's gonna stay right here until I get back."

The man's eye popped open, watery and red. "Turn on the lights."

"Lights are on, dude." Dean tried to get Ray's hand off his shirt as Sam slid a mop bucket up to the edge of the sofa.

"Outside. Lights. Cam's scared of tha' dark." Ray was stripped bare of all of his control. He was sobbing and begging against the end of Dean's shirt. "Cries…don't want him to be scared."

"Sure. No problem."

Ray's hand fell away, thunking against the floor as he passed out face down in the sofa cushion.

This was totally fucked. Jacked so bad that even getting rid of the ghost wasn't going to fix any of it. Dean headed toward the door, Sam following.

"You don't have to hurry back. The ritual can't be done until midnight anyway." Sam pulled the door open as if to hurry Dean on his way. "I'm sure she's missing you."

"Don't let him go outside if he wakes up. You, either."

"I won't."

"I mean it, Sammy."

"I know what you mean, Dean, and I won't." Sam stood filling up the doorway. "Bring that folder I left. Probably don't need it, but I'd like to have it here just in case."

"Sure. Eggs. Milk. Dead kid folder. Got it."

Dean found the control box for the web of lights that ran along the outline of the maze. When he threw the switch, the entire place lit up in tiny white lights that followed the edge of the outside wall around the maze. It did suck to leave Camden's body out there busted open for the whole world to see and he couldn't help but go back out there to check on him. The spirit had made herself pretty damn clear on more than one occasion that Dean Winchester wasn't welcome in her territory, but he had to go.

The ruined crane was pushed up beside the off limits area and once on top of one of the tires, he could see that all was as they'd left it. Camden still dead. Body still broken and pinned. Spirit waiting to pounce. Dean hated being outsmarted. He hated the shit out of it. It was in his nature to stick out his middle finger to "Do Not Enter" signs and there had to be a way to do that right now and make this a little more bearable.

It took a few minutes to get to the car and back with the green plastic tarp Sam kept rolled in a corner of the trunk. It was weighted on one side and Sam mentioned once in passing that he'd used it on a hunt while Dean was on vacation. Sam liked to call Dean's stint in Hell anything but what it was. Vacation was almost funny, after a while. By the time he got back on top of the crane, the sun was completely gone. The blinking light bulbs made the scene of a murder look like some sort of weird Christmas display. Holding both heavy corners of the tarp, Dean inched as close as possible to the wall without breaking the ghost's perimeter. He had to aim carefully and throw hard. When a breeze hit against his back, Dean smiled with thanks and tossed the fabric, using the wind to help carry it.

The tarp landed and miraculously hit its mark, draping slowly over Camden's body, covering his face and giving his corpse a bit of protection. Dean waited to see if the pissy spirit was going to throw it back in his face, but it didn't. Camden was tucked in and Ray would find at least a little comfort in that later.

"Sleep tight, buddy."

He checked his watch and headed toward the car. He had someplace to be.

***

The whole way back to Bobby's place, Dean had felt the weight of the botched job pressing down on him. No answers. Crushed Camden Jacks. Equally crushed Ray Jacks. Dredged up memories of dead brothers and crossroads. Hell, maybe if he'd left it all to Sam, if Sam had done a zero distraction focus on the problem, he could have fixed it. If Dean hadn't been there running his big mouth about salt and burn, Camden wouldn't have jumped into water way over his head and be rotting away in the September heat.

He felt wrecked and tired and all he wanted was two little arms around his neck and the welcome that was Emily. The Singer Auto Salvage archway greeted his car like a doorway slinging itself open to invite him inside. It was the closest thing to home he'd ever felt, especially now that he had a little kid waiting there for him.

Dean caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and he didn't look at all like a nine to five dad coming home for dinner. He looked like deep fried shit, splattered in blood and dirt smeared into paste by sweat. Reaching over the seat, he grabbed an old shirt and tried to swab his face clean. After he parked, he checked again and he didn't look like he'd been in a fight anymore. His hands were dirty so he stopped at the garden hose outside the backdoor and rinsed them clean.

The screen door opened and it was like stepping into another world where nobody was dead, no angry spirit was waiting to attack, and nothing bad could happen here. Emily was standing on a chair beside Bobby as he stirred a pot. He was wearing that dumb "Kiss the Cook" apron and talking to Emily in hushed tones about the art of mac-n-cheese making. She looked so clean and happy and he suddenly wished he could go back outside and wipe out every ugly thing that was waiting in the world to rip purity like that into confetti and spit on it.

"DADDY!!!"

Emily bounced across the floor toward him and with one leap she was in his arms. How did she jump so freakin' high when she was so short? The feeling of it was almost overwhelming. The way she was smiling so big, her messy curls all over her face so he had to smooth them back with his palm, the almost electric feel of her life force was just too damn wonderful to belong to him.

"Hey, Cutie Pie."

For a second, Dean caught Bobby's eye and the aged sadness there told him that Sam had called to tell him his friend was dead. It was fleeting, like Bobby only allowed himself one single second of grief when a little girl wasn't looking.

Small, cool hands on his cheeks yanked him back from the look on Bobby's face.

"You sad, Daddy? It'll be okay." The smile was gone, replaced by a worried press of her lips to his cheek.

The troubling remembrance nearly toppled him. Flashes of his father standing by his hospital bed. Arm in a sling. Confessions and apologies. "_You'd put your hand on my shoulder and you'd say, 'It's okay, Dad,' You shouldn't have had to do that." _

Dean wasn't going to be John Winchester. He twisted his mouth into the biggest smile he could manage and bounced Emily up higher in his arms. "I'm not sad! I'm here with you."

"Is that ghost girl gone?" She looked less worried.

"Don't you worry about that." Dean headed toward the kitchen. "What have you been up to this afternoon?"

"We went fishin', but we throwed them back cuz they were babies. Where's Uncle Sammy?"

Recovering from the verbal whiplash that Emily laid out with every change of thought, Dean settled them both in a chair, unwilling to put her down just yet. "He's helping Ray and I'll go help them later, after I put your little butt to bed. That okay?"

"He's gonna miss supper."

"I'll bring him something."

"We can send him some fishdicks!"

The laughter just sprayed out of his chest in a hard gush of air. "Some what?!"

"Fishdicks. Uncle Bobby's makin' 'em."

Bobby was turned toward the stove and his shoulders were shaking silently up and down. He was either crying or laughing and Dean voted for laughing.

"You ever had fishdicks, Daddy? They come in a big box and I used ta' eat 'em all the time at home." She was fooling around with his amulet then suddenly stopped to look up at him with this puzzled expression that made him laugh harder. "What's so funny?"

"It's fishsticks, Emily."

"That's what I said, fishdicks."

Every time she said it, he laughed harder. Just like when she was saying Kans-ass over and over. God, she was hilarious and wonderful and just because she was four and screwing up words she could make every bad thing that happened today fly right out of his head.

She could make it better and she didn't have to see or feel the ugly or even know she was doing it.

"Daddy? What are you laughin' at?"

He hugged her close and kissed the top of her head and gave it the old college try to stop laughing his ass off.

"Cutie Pie, say fish."

"Fish."

"Now say sticks."

"Sticks."

"Now put them together."

"Fishdicks."

Bobby erupted in laughter and gave up trying to hide it.

TBC

***


	19. Chapter 19

Okay, here we go! Hope y'all are still with me here. Throw up your hands if you are. Or, better yet, tickled those keyboards and let me know how you feel.

As always, I'd be lost without Zat, Kady, and Mai to keep me straight. You ladies are da' bomb. (Check out Zat and Kady's fic, too! Right here on your local )

Love ya! Mean it!

suz

**********************

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 19

By: Suz Mc

By the time he'd cleaned up the bathroom, Emily was already in her customary spot in front of the window. Dean expected to see her twirling her fingers in the air, painting with the light outside her bedroom. Bobby had surely seen it by now, had surely figured out that Emily was doing it, but unlike Sammy, he was keeping quiet about it. It wasn't like him to be that hands off about anything. Bobby was out in the shop, in the perfect spot to get an eyeful if Emily started curling the light.

He wanted to tell her to stop, not to lift her hand, not to do this thing anymore because it scared people and labeled her a freak. Emily raised her hand, concentrating hard, her little chest rising harder against the image of yellow butterflies on her nightgown. Dean stayed quiet, watching the tension build inside her, like she needed the pin prick of using her control over the light to release it all before she exploded.

It was Sam all over again, being seduced a little at a time. Dean opened his mouth, but didn't have to speak.

Emily dropped her hand to her side and backed away from the window. When she turned to find her father watching, there was a brief moment of startled fear on her tiny face, eyes wide and dark. She stared up at him like she didn't know what to do or what she needed.

Dean knew what she needed. She needed her father's approval, his acknowledgment that she's fought this enormous power inside of her.

He smiled and opened his arms and watched her entire body relax as she walked into his hands.

"Time for bed, Cutie Pie." He lifted her up, kissed her forehead and hugged her tight. Emily had made the choice not to use her power. Sam hadn't done that until after things had gotten completely out of control and the Devil himself had crashed the party. This was a good sign.

"Prayers first." Emily kissed back, no more tension in her eyes.

"Of course." Dean knelt beside her, propping his elbows on the edge of the bed.

With her soft little girl voice, Emily began to talk to the Almighty like he was perched there beside her. "Dear Lord, thank you for lettin' me and Uncle Bobby fish today and for the fishdicks and for my Daddy. Help him make the ghost girl behave and… I'll try to be good. I promise." Emily's eyes fluttered open, only to be snapped shut as she had another thought to add. "Say hey to my mama and tell Grandpa John he can come on soon. Amen."

Grandpa John. They were back to the dreams. Emily was climbing into her bed, clearly anticipating her grandfather or whoever to show up and she was looking forward to it.

Easing the covers up to her neck, Dean tried to coax some more detail out of her. "Emily, are you sure Grandpa John is coming tonight?"

"Yep. It's his turn."

"His turn for what?"

"To pick what we do. We had snow last time and it was awesome."

"I bet it was." Dreams just weren't supposed to be these carefully laid out events that could be anticipated and participated like some planned play date. Someone was controlling everything that went on in her head while she slept and he needed to find out what the fuck was going on.

Dean reached over and turned out the light. Light from the open bathroom door lit up the room in a comforting way and it seemed to be enough for Emily at night. He touched on her music and turned to sound down so that she could just barely hear. Stretching out beside her, he kept his voice low and quiet.

"So, Grandpa John told you about me getting stung by a jellyfish, huh?"

"Bet it hurt 'cause it was in your pants. Mine was just on my leg and I kickeded it off."

"Yeah, it did." He felt her snuggle in close on his shoulder and she closed her eyes. "What else does Grandpa John do in your dreams, sweetie?"

"He keeps the monster away." She got just a little closer and Dean picked up her hand in his.

"How does he do that?"

"I dunno. It's magic."

"Is anybody else there with you two?"

"Nope, unless he makes us up some people to play with." Emily ended her sentence with soft yawn against his sleeve.

"Does anything scary ever happen when he's around?"

"Nope, he's bigger than the monster."

"You're bigger than the monster, Emily. She can't get you anymore." He hugged her close, putting his lips against her hair. "Do you think you can tell him something for me?" She was practically asleep now and maybe this little suggestion would bleed through to whatever was getting into her dreams.

"Umhm."

"Tell him I want to talk to him, soon." Maybe if that message got through, if it was John Winchester or something else shoving its way into Emily head, they'd know he was onto them and leave her alone. Dean wanted nothing more than for Emily to have peace at night, but not this way, not at the cost of her own control and freedom.

She didn't answer. Emily's face had a sweet sleepy pout, lips pushed together while she let go into sleep. Taking care not to disturb her, Dean eased out of bed, but before he left, he kissed her cheek and whispered, "I love you. See you in the morning."

With the flick of a switch, Dean turned on the ancient baby monitor Bobby had come up with and slid the cordless handset into his pocket. Bobby was probably finished with his work in the garage and Dean went to find him.

***

"Lil Bit asleep?" Bobby's back was turned as Dean approached and it was damn weird the way nobody could sneak up on him. Ever.

"Yeah." Dean traded the baby monitor in his pocket for a wooden box as Bobby turned and put it in his hands. "I don't want to leave her inside alone for long. Stick close to her tonight."

"You know I will." Bobby put the monitor to his ear and smiled. "She's snoring. Must be the fishdicks."

"We gotta get her to stop saying that." He was laughing while he said it, and hefted the heavy box over to his car. "Damn, what's in here?"

"A ritual blood stone from Babylon and the severed arm of a werewolf."

"What the fu--?"

Bobby smacked his arm and shook his head. "Just kidding. Well, about the werewolf, at least. That stone's priceless. Stole it myself so be sure it gets back in one piece. Oh, and don't waste those herbs and the dried serpent entrails. That shit's hard to come by."

"Uh, yeah. Frugal with the snake guts. Got it." Dean stowed the box and noticed Sam's discarded folder on the seat. "Thanks for grabbing the file."

"You're welcome, glad to help." Bobby just stood there, momentary lightheartedness fading away. His hands were shoved inside his pockets and he had a visible slump to his body.

"I'm sorry about Camden, Bobby. I know he was your friend." He slammed the door and waited for Bobby to ask for the details or remind him that the first rule of hunting is to keep the damn civilians out of the way.

But Bobby didn't do either of those things. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and tapped Dean on the shoulder. "Come see what your kid did to my garage." The man turned and walked around to the side of the building, grabbing a huge Q-beam light as he went. Dried grass crunched under their feet as they made their way.

When Bobby flipped the switch, the entire wall jumped to life with pure Emily. There were flowers painted as high as her arms would reach. Hearts and curves and brilliant streaks of color shouted out from every empty space, almost covering the ugly gray siding. She'd sprayed happy all over everything she'd touched and it was so freaking joyous, so freaking normal for a four-year-old little girl.

"So this is where all that paint came from the night of your wild pizza party, huh?" He couldn't take his eyes off what she'd done. The comfort of simply looking at it was amazing. But there was something missing, something that had been in all of her other coloring projects. "Guess you didn't have any red paint, you know, for the flames."

"I did and she dipped her brush in it then changed her mind."

"Are you serious?!" He could barely see Bobby's face in the dark behind the flashlight but he knew he was grinning ear to ear. Dean turned back to the wall, wishing he could fold it up and put it in his wallet to carry with him. "Awesome."

"She's going to be okay, Dean. Even if it gets rough again, she'll be okay."

"That story you told her must have made a big impression if it got her to paint this without the flames."

"What story?"

"The one about the eight raspberries."

"What the hell are you talking about, boy?"

"Eight raspberries. When I put her to bed after the big kindergarten throw down you two had, she said you told her a story about eight raspberries."

Bobby looked puzzled for a second, as he turned off the light and started walking back with Dean toward the car. All at once he busted out laughing. "Not eight raspberries, Haight-Ashbury, kid. I was telling her about when…never mind. Haight-Ashbury is what she was trying to say.

A vision of purple sunglasses resting on Emily's nose came to mind. Bobby looked away, still laughing, but clearly not wanting to reveal anything. "Were you? Wait, I don't want to know." Bobby Singer. Tie dye. Stuffing flowers in gun barrels. If the apocalypse hadn't already happened, that image could bring it on again. Dean tried to shake that out of his brain.

"That kid cracks me up. Eight raspberries. Fishdicks. I've laughed more since you three got here than, well, in a long time."

Dean had the door open and leaned back on it with his elbow. "She drops her h's a lot. She was calling Hawaii 'whyee' this afternoon. She gets ticked when you don't understand what she means. Took some thinking to figure out…what she was saying."

Son of a bitch. H's. The answer danced in front of his face, giggling and taunting him. It had been right there for days.

"Son of a bitch, Bobby! It's not Anna Lee!"

"What?"

Dean scrambled into the car to grab Sam's folder of dead and missing kids from around the Beeman junkyard. "It's here! I just didn't understand her." Answers. They'd had the damn answer all the time. Dean pulled out of the car and spread the pages out over the hood. Bobby was still clueless, but offered the help of his flashlight.

He threw the useless pages out of the way, searching for the one Sam had slipped to the back. When that page was the only one left, he couldn't help but thump his finger against the little girl's face. "Gotcha! This is her, Bobby! Damn straight!"

"Mind bringing me up to speed, Dean." Bobby leaned in close to get a better look.

"Not Anna Lee, Bobby. Emily said the spirit's name was Anna Lee, said Dad told her. But it's not. It's Hannaley. Katherine Hannaley. That stupid lunchbox threw Sam's dates off." Dean held up the paper closer to the light. "Katherine Hannaley, six years old, disappeared in 1978 from the front of her elementary school when her mom was late picking her up." He handed the flyer to Bobby. "Her family made this a few years ago to show what she'd look like as an adult, even created a website. They never found her body so they just kept looking."

"Damn. All those years."

Bobby held the page while Dean continued to rummage through Sam's research. "Where's that fuckin' map? Here." Dean spread out a map of the area surrounding the Beeman junkyard. "Look, Bobby. There's a direct line through the woods behind the school to the back of the junkyard. It's a little less than a mile. Shit! We got pay dirt!"

"Hold on." Bobby was reading over the details on the flyer. "Says someone spotted the kid walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, Dean."

"Hell, Bobby, don't kill my buzz here." Dean did a frantic scoop of his papers on the hood and snatched the flyer away from Bobby. "I don't know, man. Maybe the witness was wrong. Maybe some freak grabbed her off the street and took her there. All I know is that's the kid. I'm sure of it."

"How?"

Dean jabbed a finger at the bottom of the flyer. Katherine Hannaley's family had listed every miniscule bit of information unique to her that might identify her, even as an adult.

"Because she was allergic to bees."

TBC

***


	20. Chapter 20

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 20

By: Suz Mc

"Are you sure about this? Hannaley?" Sam was on his knees in the dirt, struggling to get Bobby's contraband historical artifact positioned as close to the opening of the corridor as possible. There was no way he was risking getting inside the spirit's strike zone.

"You think you're the only one who can put shit together?" Dean nudged him sideways, nearly toppling him over in the dirt. "When Bobby told me that it was Haight-Ashbury and not Eight Raspberries, I remembered that flyer you put away. It's her. The bees, the location, it's her, damn it."

Sam sat back and let Dean handle the spray paint for the ritual design around the stone. "What the hell was that about, anyway?"

"What?" Dean never looked up from his work. He might be sloppy and rough about some things, but Sam knew his brother was anal squared about rituals. Those lines would be perfect.

"Haight-Ashbury, stupid? Do you think Bobby was, and I shudder to say this, a flower child?"

"Dude, that's one blast from the past I'm not interested in stirring up." Dean stood upright to admire his handy work. "Bobby, a peace-nik. Bet he's got some Joan Baez album stashed in his bedroom." Dean stuck out his tongue and shook his entire body like a shiver had run up his back.

Sam let out a cackle, which seemed normal to the two of them. He and Dean had laughed their way through blood and death before. Had laughed themselves calm when they were facing walls of shit. Dean could make him laugh in cemeteries and morgues, and even now, ten feet away from Camden's moldering remains. Sometimes it was the only way to keep from falling into the despair.

He was still snickering with visions of Hippie Bobby permanently tie-dyed into his brain, when Dean smacked his shoulder and pointed toward Ray Jacks staggering his way out into the maze. It was eleven-forty-five and Ray had been passed out drunk for five hours. Sam wasn't shocked that he looked like worm dirt. Ray's hand kept reaching out to grab first one support then another. His face was pale and wrinkled and his shirt was smeared with something that didn't appear to belong in polite company.

The man looked like shit and smelled of puke and booze when he got within sniffing distance. But, he was sober enough to stand and look them in the eye and Sam thought he deserved to be there to see this nasty hand played out.

"Ray, you holdin' up okay?" Dean offered Ray an old white paint bucket to sit on, only to be waved off.

"I want to be here when you kill it." He held tight to the side of one block wall, knuckles white as he gripped part of a rearview mirror for support.

"Ray, that's not exactly—"

"You've earned it, Ray."

Dean turned to Sam, effectively shutting off his conversation in his normal tactful way. Sam wanted to make Ray understand that things aren't always so black and white, good and evil. He wanted to explain, but evidently Dean didn't think Ray needed explanations right now.

"Sam, you ready?"

"Yeah."

Sam unfolded the pages and began the incantation. It would take several minutes to read and as long as they dropped the final flash of ingredients at midnight and said Katherine Hannaley's name at the same time, it should work. He started reciting the words, keeping an ear open for what was going on in the corridor where the spirit had holed up, as well as what was going on with Dean and Ray.

"Dude, I know you're hurting, but you gotta hold it together out here. No matter what you see or what you hear, you don't set foot in there until this is done." Dean was using his no-shit-takers voice.

"Okay."

"I'm not shittin' you, Ray. This is the one shot to get this done and if you mess it up it won't just be you going into the meat grinder. It'll be anyone else that tangles with this thing if it gets away. You get what I'm saying?"

"I said I did." Ray pulled himself up a little straighter.

"Good."

The low hum of bees began to rise from inside the corridor, almost competing with Sam's voice to be heard. The cyclone of metal and dirt swirled into being, an angry force trying to drown out the words.

It was eleven fifty-nine.

***

John lifted Emily up onto the stool at the counter and she did exactly what every four-year-old does when their bottom hits a swiveling chair. The little girl pushed hard against the counter, spinning wildly in a circle and squealing with happiness. He sat down beside her and pulled open a menu.

It wasn't really necessary to read the specials because he'd imagined them there himself, but John liked immersing himself in these fantasies to make them more real for the both of them.

"Where are we, Grandpa John?" She'd stopped hard by grabbing the counter with both hands and almost slid off onto the floor. Emily folded her arms on the sparkling Formica counter top, resting her chin on her hands.

"Jay Bird's Diner. Your Grandmother and I came here when we were young." It made him grin to watch her taking in the entire place as if memorizing every inch. Dean looked at things that way, scanning and analyzing his environment so he could own it while he was there.

"Was that a very, very long time ago?" She'd opened her own menu, copying his movements, pretending she could read the entire thing.

He did the weird math in his head and calculated that in John Winchester time, it had been approximately one hundred and forty years. Most of them were calculated in Hell years, but Hell years were real enough if you were there.

"It was a while."

Reggie Bird finally noticed them at the counter and made his way over, pad and pen in hand. "What can I get for you guys?"

"Hey, Reg." John had conjured his old friend up in his 1973 version complete with fuzzy sideburns and paisley polyester shirt. "I'll have a Jay Bird Burger and coffee." He leaned over to look at Emily's menu as she studied it with a wrinkled brow. "What about you, baby girl?"

"I want some pie!" She popped the menu closed and did another spin on her stool. "My daddy likes pie and he lets me have ice cream on it."

"You heard the lady." John handed the menus to Reg, and then turned to find Emily studying him.

"Do you like pie, Grandpa?" Damn, she looked at him so hard with those big brown eyes.

"Not as much as your daddy does, but his mother, now there was a pie fanatic."

"Grandma Mary?"

"Yep, she ate pie like it was going out of style. When she was expecting your daddy, I had to come here every night on my way home from work and get her two pieces. One for before dinner and one for after." God, that woman ate pie. No wonder Dean had the pie monkey on his back. John could swear that when the doctor held Dean up to spank his bottom in the delivery room that the kid reeked of lemon icebox.

"I know what that means."

"What?"

"Ex-pecting. Mama said that's when a lady's having a baby in her tummy."

Oh shit. That expecting thing had just slipped right out and he hadn't figured on Emily latching on to that baby business. "That's right. That's what that means. Reg, can I get that coffee?"

"Mama says part of the daddy goes with part of the mama and makes the baby in her tummy." Reg slid Emily's plate in front of her and she dug into the cherry pie with a hungry fork. Only it didn't stop her mouth. "Our beside the house neighbors had a baby."

"Really?" Reg could get back with that food any time now.

"Stevie and Randall. They're like a mama and a daddy but they're both daddies."

"Oh."

"So they getted a lady to have a baby and give it to 'em."

"That was nice."

"I askeded Mama how some daddy stuff got with her stuff to make me." Another big bite in the middle of kindergarten sex ed stopped her from talking.

His burger arrived and he took a huge bite, hoping to resist the urge to ask what Calley had told her. Talk about babies was hard enough with a twelve-year-old boy. He swallowed a gulp of coffee, full well intending not to ask, but what the hell, right?

"What did she say?"

Emily swallowed hard and John rubbed a blob of cherries from her chin. "Mama said God put it there."

Thank God for the creativity of mothers. Calley had better answers than that cabbage patch bullshit. It was a shame God didn't have much to do with what made Emily. But he didn't care about the how of Emily's existence. All that mattered was that she was here and amazing.

He watched her swirl the remains of her pie and ice cream into a creamy mess. He'd never have let the boys sit there and play with their food. It was a waste of time and his life's work was too fucking important to let kids sit in peace and make a mess. Now, it's all he wanted to do. Grandpa John had walled up the monster outside in the parking lot and Emily was free to paint with her pie all night long if she wanted.

"Uncle Sammy and Daddy are making the ghost girl behave." Emily switched to a spoon and scooped up the pink mush, slurping it into her mouth.

"Good for them." Jay Bird burgers were better than he remembered. But, of course they would be because why the hell would he imagine them sucking?

"Daddy said to tell you he wants to talk to you," she scraped the last bite off the plate, "soon."

It wasn't a shock. Hell, he'd been sending subconscious messages to the boys by telling Emily about the ghost, telling her about Dean and the fuckin' jellyfish. This hadn't been a covert operation by a long shot, the way he'd been running his mouth. John knew his son well enough to read the intent behind that phrasing. It was a warning. Dean didn't like the interference and it was his way to telling his dad to get lost.

"Can we play songs on that thingie?" Emily pointed toward the jukebox and he pulled out a quarter for her to feed the machine.

John watched her bounce down to the ground and then stand on tiptoes to look at the songs as they flipped by. It was clear she couldn't read the labels, but she was going to fake it to look like a big kid and pick one anyway.

Dean could get over it. Mary, too.

As Emily struggled to reach the coin slot, John intervened. "Need a lift, kid?" With both hands under her arms, he lifted her up so that she could drop the quarter in herself. 

_TBC_


	21. Chapter 21

**I can't tell you how much I appreciate all the good friends and kind advisors I've made through writing these stories. Zat, Kady, Mai...you aren't just betas and critics, but you are my good, good friends. I couldn't have keep this going without you letting me bounce things off of you. And to all of you who review so faithfully, you just don't realize who your thoughts and impressions encourage me and inspire me. Thank you so much.

Now...on with the story.

Suz

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Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 21

By: Suz Mc

The wall was rattling apart under his hand as Dean struggled to keep his feet. Whoever was behind that wall knew she was beingpulled down onto the level playing field with everybody else and she was pissed major. What was brewing behind that wall wasn't going to contain itself for long so he stepped back a few paces, careful not to get behind Sam.

Sam was shouting, hoarse and loud, to make the incantation heard over wind and clanking metal. His knuckles were paling to white as he tightened his grip to keep the pages from flying out of his hands. It was weird the way little brother could be like the eye of a storm, all still and focused when things were coming apart. The bag of nauseating ingredients was at Sam's knee and he stretched one hand down into it to pinch just enough for the last step.

"Son of a bitch!" Ray Jacks fell face first into the dirt, metal car parts shaking loose all around him.

A blast of energy littered with dirt and clanking metal blasted free around them. The wall disintegrated in front of them. Sam grabbed the stone, covering the smoldering offerings with his body and Dean grabbed Sam. Seconds were ticking by and the spirit was fighting back, flinging rage at them in a last ditch effort to hang on to her piece of the universe.

It needed to be done now. "Sam! Say it!"

Sam was still forcing out the last words, but his hands were occupied with hanging on so he wouldn't go flying ass over head across the lot. Dean held onto Sam with one arm stretched around him gripping the stone. His feet struggled against the dirt, against the force of the shit storm being unleashed on them. Sam could still talk or scream so now was the time to be a team. Jamming his hand down into the bag, Dean pinched a wad of full of dried snake guts and held them over the coals.

Sam nodded over Dean's fist and resumed his bellowing. "One! Two! Three! Katherine Hannaley!"

Dean pushed the mixture against the red hot embers as Sam yelled the kid's name. His fingers singed sharp against the burning fragments and he jerked back with a curse. If the push of the wind and trash had hurt before, it was nothing compared to the suction of all that fury back into its source. Every shard of metal, rock, and piece of glass that had raked over them on its way out, dragged back over their bodies on the way back in.

It was just bone-deep instinct to shield Sam and Sam knew better than to fight it. He held tight, hunched over into a ball, being the anchor to hold them still while Dean covered him up, taking the hits. The pressure was smacking against his eardrums and Dean had to grit his teeth to hold it down before his eardrums exploded.

Damn, he wanted to look. Kinda like being Lot's friggin' wife, only instead of becoming a pillar of salt, he'd probably just get a chunk of metal jabbed in his eyeball. When he couldn't hold back a second longer, when the roar seemed to be drawn past them, Dean cracked open one eyelid.

The pressure let go with such abrupt release that Dean tumbled hard to the dirt, Sam flopped out on the ground beside him. The area was a minefield of debris, covered with broken car parts. The roar shifted from being all around them to in front as the pressure lifted and Dean felt his body free to move once again.

Sam scrambled to his feet first, jerked Dean up with one hand. "Look!"

Dean followed Sam's hand where it pointed toward the mangled LeBaron block. Ray Jacks lay between them and the remaining swirl of dirt and junk that was now focused in cyclonic blast twisting around in the center of the maze. Ray was crawling toward them and Dean grabbed a handful of the man's shirt to yank him to his feet.

"What the hell?"

Ray's voice was half panic, half disbelief at the sight in front of them. The furious energy turned and boiled in the shape of a tornado collapsing in on itself down to a still point on the ground. It let out defeated shrieks as it compacted downward into a solid form as if being forced into a tight mold. First white sneakers took shape, then pink lacy socks, two bloody knees and a dirty denim skirt. The tattered tail of a purple Izod pullover took form, building upward into the pale smudged face of a little girl. Her mouth was open in a pained gasp and wisps of straight blonde pigtails waved around her face then fell as the wind blew itself out into stillness.

"WHAT?!" The child spat the word toward them. It was bravado that Dean could fully embrace. He'd used it when he was too small and too out gunned. Volume made a good deterrent sometimes. Have a bad enough bark, sometimes you didn't even need to bite.

Sam stepped forward, showing her his open hands in an attempt to look less threatening. "You must be Kath--," Sam hesitated, softening his tone, "uh, Katie?"

"My name's Kate! Don't call me that baby name!" Kate stood her ground, one fist clenched at her side, but the other tugging nervously at the end of her shirt. Her eyes were bright blue, but rimmed in irritated red and swollen. She stretched out one shaky finger and pointed it at Sam's chest as he inched closer. "Leave me alone, you meanie!"

Kate stood just a hair taller than Emily and Dean had to shake off his parental urge toward her. Kate may have been a little girl once, but now she was an atomic level killing machine that had to be shut off. He grabbed the sawed off from his back waistband and leveled it at her.

"I'm sorry, Kate. I'm Sam. I just want to talk to you for a minute. That okay?"

"This is what killed Camden?! This…this…little girl?!" Ray stammered out the words, swaying in his shock. He'd expected horns and fire and fury, not some damaged child and it had thrown him back into shock.

Dean grabbed the back of Ray's shirt and hauled the man behind him. "Shut up, Ray."

"I didn't mean to." Kate turned back to look at Camden's dirty corpse and twisted her head back quickly, horrified. For a second, it looked like she was going to cry. "I just wanted everybody to go away! Don't you come in here!" Kate pointed at Sam again, waving her finger like a weapon.

"Kate, it's okay." Sam crouched down, bouncing on his heels a bit. "I know you're scared, but now that you're here, we'd just like to know what happened to you. We want to help you so you won't be so scared anymore."

"I'm not scared! I'm mad!" Kate stomped her foot, more bluster to cover the fear that was behind her red-rimmed eyes.

"Can you tell me why? Did someone hurt you, Kate?"

Dean inched over to have a better shot if the thing decided to turn ugly.

"Cuz they just lefted me, that's why?" Kate's faded lip began to tremble. Now she just looked like a kid, not some jacked up spirit gunning for slaughter.

"Maybe if you tell us, we can help."

"Why?"

Sam put a friendly smile on his face. "Because I've got a little niece who's just a bit younger than you and if she was upset or in trouble, I'd like to think some grown up would help her if I wasn't there."

"Grownups stink!"

"Did a grown up hurt you?"

"My mommy. She forgot me."

"Forgot you?"

Kate toed at a chunk of debris at her feet. "I waited and waited and she never came. All the kids got picked up and she didn't come."

"From school?"

"Yeah." The hurt was evident in her voice. Being forgotten, left behind had left a mark on her psyche that death couldn't erase. "She was too busy with that stupid new baby and she forgot me."

"You had a baby brother, right?" Sam sat down on the ground, crossing his legs. It was a damn stupid defensive posture, leaving him open if the spirit turned on him. Dean kept the barrel squared at Kate's middle. "Glenn?"

"Glennie Pooh." Kate rattled her head from side to side, sing-songing the words. "That's all they cared about. That dumb baby. I didn't even get a new lunch box 'cuz dumb ole screaming Glenn had to have stupid baby stuff. Gail's ugly used up David Cassidy lunch box was all there was." Kate kicked the metal hunk across the ground. "Showed them! I just left that stupid lunch box behind and started walking."

Now they were getting somewhere. In the middle of the whole sad mess, Dean couldn't help but be more than a little satisfied at being right.

"Walking where, Kate? Home?" Sam had a long skinny slice of metal in his hand and started doodling absently in the dust. The back of his hand was bleeding from a small cut and the blood and the dirt mixed together.

"I was gonna walk on the sidewalk, but the big kids said there was a shorts cut in the woods." Kate flopped down on the ground, copying Sam's posture. She was completely focused on Sam. "I'd just go home my ownself, but something happened." Kate traced a few lines in the dirt with her finger.

"Was there someone there, Kate? Did someone hurt you?"

Shit. They were all about to hear how some pervert had snatched seven-year-old Kate, gotten his jollies, and murdered her. Dean didn't want to hear shit like that anymore.

"I was just throwin' sticks 'cuz I was mad. Must have made those bees mad, too." Kate looked up, remembered terror all over her face. "They chaseded me and hurt me. Bees are bad 'cuz I'm 'llergic and I have to go to the hospital if they get me."

"Did you get stung by the bees?"

"Yeah and I ran and ran and they kept stinging. There was this fence with a hole and I went inside and crawled in a car trunk that was open and closed up the lid and they couldn't get me." Red welts began to pop up on Kate's neck and arms, as if the remembered stings were returning to haunt her. "I thought Mommy and Daddy or Sissy would come find me, but they didn't come get me. I got so tired and the air wouldn't come into my mouth and I couldn't stay awake no more." She looked hard at Sam, red swollen eyes dripping. "I guess they had that new baby, so they didn't look for me."

The thought of a little girl, dying scared and alone, trapped in the back of a rusted junk heap, was enough to get any hunter in the gut. The thought of her spirit lingering there because she thought her family had stopped loving her was worse.

"That's not true, Kate." Dean wasn't dumb enough to lower the gun, but he reached into his pocket with one hand and pulled out the missing person's flyer to show her.

Kate jumped to her feet like she'd forgotten there was anyone standing there except her and Sam. "Who are you?!'" She looked at the gun and backed away. The dust began to stir at her feet.

Sam snatched the flyer away, holding it up for Kate to see. "That's just my big brother, Dean, and he's right. They did search, they just didn't know where to look for you. See?" He stepped forward to hand her the paper and stopped when she backed further away. The back of Kate's sneaker bumped into Camden's dirty jeans and she looked down at him sadly.

Sam laid the page on the ground and stepped backward, giving her a safe space to advance. The little girl took just enough steps forward to reach down and snatch up the paper. "That's me, but who's that other lady?" She was reading the flyer, taking it all in.

"That's you, Kate." Dean lowered the barrel just a tad, so she wouldn't be so jumpy. "They tried to show what you might look like as a grown up in case someone saw you all these years later."

"They never stopped looking for you after all this time. Your mommy was late because she had a flat tire and by the time she got there, you were gone." Same edged a bit closer. "They didn't forget you. They loved you and never stopped looking." Sam was close enough to reach out and touch the paper and Kate didn't flinch away. "See the number on the bottom here? It says call Glenn Hannaley or Gail Finch."

"Baby Glenn and my sissy Gail?" There was no anger left in Kate's trembling voice, all that was left was a child who alone and afraid.

"That's right. Your big sister and your little brother never stopped hoping that they'd find you, even after they grew up." Sam looked back over his shoulder and smiled. They were in the home stretch. "You see now, Kate? They loved you, so you don't have to be mad anymore. We'll make sure they know what happened to you and you can all move on."

"Wait just a fucking minute?" Ray was wild-eyed in his grief and frustration. He pointed at the little girl and she retreated back beside Camden's dead body. "This? This is what killed my brother? This, this, baby?!" The man paced back and forth, dirty hands scrubbing through his hair.

"Ray, let it go." Dean tried to settle Ray, but there was no way to stop the building storm inside him. Ray had wanted revenge. He'd wanted to see a hideous, foaming monster punished for his brother's death, but there wasn't one. There was just a little kid who misunderstood and struck out with a weapon too big for her to handle. It sent a familiar chill down Dean's back. "Back off."

Ray stomped toward Kate, ignoring the wind that was once again shuffling between and around them. "I wanna' know why! Why did you do it?!" Sam stepped in between them, holding Ray firm with both hands gripping his arms. "He was like you, like a kid!" Ray was shouting, trying to bob around Sam, screaming and sobbing at the same time.

"I didn't mean to. Go away!" Kate held out her arms and the metal fragments began to lift slightly off the ground.

"You didn't mean to? He wouldn't have hurt anybody and you killed him! You killed him!"

"Stop it, Ray!"

Sam was trying to shove Ray back away from the spirit. Dean aimed the shotgun back in Kate's direction, trying to avoid taking a shot until he didn't have a choice. If he blasted her out of the here and now, they might not get her back again, so it had to be a last resort.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, mister." Kate was crying, big wet kid tears. The block holding Camden's remains pinned to the wall bounced up and down just enough to shake him loose. He fell in a mutilated heap behind the little girl and she jumped away. "I didn't know."

"Damn it, Ray! Back off!" Dean was holding the barrel of the gun level at Kate and trying to drag Ray backward as Sam pushed.

"You didn't know?! You didn't know it would kill somebody to hit them with a fuckin' car?! How could you do it?"

They were all three struggling in the wind storm now. Kate was wailing and the sound carried through the gale force wind. The child knelt beside Camden's bloody corpse, screaming "I'm sorry" over and over. Dean was the only one facing the disaster building in the maze when part of Ray's wrecked crane broke loose flew toward them.

"Drop!" Dean counted on Sam to obey that one command that he always did.

Dean pulled, Sam pushed, and all three of them rolled down to the ground in a pile as the mass of metal rods sailed over their heads and crashed against part of the wall.

"I'm sorry!" Kate's screams seemed to accelerate the raging winds.

Dean used Sam's shoulder as a rest for the shotgun and tensed his trigger finger. Squinting through the dust haze made it hard to find the target, but there she was, hovering over Camden's body, crying and yelling.

At the moment he moved to fire, the gun barrel was yanked upward, firing the salt round into the air above them.

The raging winds stilled flat, once again dropping the fragments to the ground. All that was left was the sound of Kate's spirit sobbing.

"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry…"

"Well, don't you worry about that, Little Katie Bug. I know you're sorry."

A booming voice came from the back corner of the corridor, drawing everyone's attention out of the dirt.

The transparent figure of a young man unfolded from the mutilated body of Camden Jacks. He solidified more and more with each passing second as he rose to his full height. At six four, the man towered over everyone there except Sam. Dressed in starched white jeans and a snug navy blue t-shirt, his hair cropped short and slicked to one side, he looked like the perfect example of the all American boy.

Dean shoved Ray and Sam off of him, and pointed the shotgun solidly at the spirit's middle. "Well, look at this. A ghost party crasher. Who the hell are you?"

"Cam? Oh my God!" Ray scrambled to his feet and moved toward the spirit in a staggering trot.

The spirit broke into a huge smile. "Yeah, little brother, it's me." Camden's ghost reached out a big hand to rest on his brother's shoulder. "Come 'ere, you." The big man wrapped his brother up in a warm hug, holding him tightly as Ray sobbed and clung to his t-shirt.

Kate was still making hiccupping cries in the background, but not raining anything down on them at the moment. Ray was clinging to what appeared to be Camden Jacks in some pre-war incarnation.

Sam was trying to catch his breath, sprawled on the ground beside his brother. "Dean? You have any clue what we should do now?"

"Let me get back to you on that." Dean dropped the shotgun into his lap and waited.

TBC

**NOTE - I know your time is precious, but if you have time, drop me a line. Thanks again for reading! Suz ***


	22. Chapter 22

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 22

By: Suz Mc

Camden's spirit held his brother tightly, stroking his back like he was a little kid instead of a sun-wrinkled man. They were who they were supposed to be – brothers.

It felt like intruding to watch them. Sam understood moments like that should be private, family only. The emotion welled up in his throat and he could hear a voice in his ear from years back saying, "It's okay, Sammy," whispered in a grimy hotel room. He'd gotten his brother back. Ray Jacks was only going to have his back for a few minutes.

Camden was smiling, resting his chin on Ray's head. This was what he must have been like when he left for Vietnam, strong and in charge. This was who he was before a bullet locked that man away. Even after everything, he didn't seem bitter or angry at all.

"Listen, Ray. I need to tell you some stuff." Camden pulled Ray back, still keeping his hands on him.

"Is it really you, Cam? You swear?" Ray held onto Camden's arms, slipping back from guardian to the little brother he'd been when Camden Jacks really lived in that body.

"I swear on Jenny Callum's double D's!" His laugh was the same joyful, full boom it was when he was the other Camden, wearing a ponytail and tie-dyed t-shirt.

"Bet you would." Ray laughed, though it was shaky and weak.

"Did! Twice! She dug that givin' a soldier something to remember line."

Ray was looking up at his brother as the laughter faded. "Cam, why do you look like this? Like before?"

The young man's smile relaxed just a bit and a touch of sadness took over. "This was the me who got lost after, well, after 'Nam and all that pain. I'm free now. I'm going to be okay."

"I'm so sorry I didn't look out for you. I tried, but—"

Camden's big hand cupped the side of Ray's face. "Don't even, dude. Do you know how proud I am to have you for my brother? When I came back broken, you still wanted me to be your brother. Hell, I've been happy my whole life, Ray. We're a team. I looked after you, then you looked after me. I'm the one who acted a fool this time and there was no way I was letting you take the hit for it." Camden hugged his brother close once more. "I couldn't live with you dead, Ray. My choice and it was the right one. It was time for me to go."

Dean was on his feet now, reaching out a hand to pulled Sam off the ground. He tried not to look at Dean too long because he didn't want to fall into wuss mode and take the ribbing Dean would dish out later. Sam noticed his hand was bleeding and he gave it a quick look. Dean snatched it up, flipping it back and forth, inspecting it.

"Cinderella bandaid at best." Dean dropped Sam's hand down, ignoring his own bleeding ear and the gash running down his forearm. "And if you're expecting to take part in some group hug, forget it."

"Hugged you enough, jerk."

"Don't go yet, Camden. Stay here for a while. You don't have to go." Ray was clinging to Camden's arms, trying to hold him there.

The warm look on Camden's face stayed strong. He was still the big brother, even in death, even though he hadn't been one for a long time. "Ray, I just don't belong here anymore. I'm not sure, but I feel like there's something I've got to do out there."

"I don't know what to do now, Cam. What should I do?" How do you keep going when the one person you looked after is gone? Sam could completely wrap his brain around that emotion.

"How 'bout you do something to make yourself happy, Ray? Go see some shit. You haven't left the state except to pick up wrecks in forever, dude." Camden picked up Ray's face to force him to pay attention. "I know you gotta' grieve for a while, but not too long." Camden's face brightened and he snapped his fingers with enthusiasm. "I know! That lady from the hardware store, Nan, who brings you casseroles!"

"She brings those to you, stupid." Ray shook his head and rolled his eyes like he was a teenager again.

"Bullshit! She wants you, Raymond. Go get her." Camden plugged Ray in the shoulder. "Just remember to wear your raincoat, if ya' know what I mean."

"Dude, I don't need a pimp." Ray still had hold of his brother's arm.

"Well, if not Nan, somebody. Let somebody love you, Ray. It's your turn to be happy. That would make me happy." Camden reached over and kissed Ray on the top of his head. "I'll be seeing you again one day, little brother."

"I love you, Cam. I really do."

"I know that. Love you, too, Ray."

In the silence that followed, Kate Hannaley's sobbing was heard once again and Camden's spirit turned away from his brother and went back to her. "Hey, what's all this crying about, Kate?"

"I'm sorry-didn't mean it-don't be mad." Kate's stomach was huffing in and out with the force of her sobbing. The little girl who'd caused all this trouble was just a scared kid who didn't want to be in trouble.

"Katie Bug, I'm not mad. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. You were just scared." Camden reached out one hand to take Kate's and the hand was beginning to lose substance. "I think maybe we can help each other out now."

Kate rubbed her eyes with one hand and looked up at him warily. "How?"

"Well, I think there's a great place waiting for us, but we'll be new there and we're both going to be looking for our mom and dad."

"My mommy and daddy are there?" Kate perked up and stopped crying.

"Mine, too. But why don't we look after each other until we find them, okay?" Camden let go of Kate's hand and lifted her up high in his arms.

"I'm scared." Kate grabbed tightly around his neck to hang on.

Camden lowered his voice to a whisper. "Wanna know a secret, kiddo? Only crazy people never get scared. I'm a little scared myself, but it's going to be fine. It's just because we're going to a place we've never been."

"Like the first time I went on a rollercoaster!"

Camden was walking toward them, but he was clearly not anchored or interested in this world any longer. Both of them were becoming more and more transparent.

"Yeah, just like that. Did you like it once you did it?"

"Yeah!" Kate sounded hopeful now, hopeful and excited.

"Let's go find someone to play with, Kate."

As many times as he'd seen it, that light sucking souls from this plain to the next, it always stunned him. Sam watched as Camden Jacks and little Kate Hannaley stepped through and became part of something else, somewhere else. The light door flashed closed and collapsed, leaving Ray to reach out into the space that held his brother and was gone.

***

They'd waited until an hour after sunrise to call the cops. Sam and Dean Winchester had found Ray unconscious in his overturned crane when they'd arrived to pick up some vintage car parts and reported the terrible accident that had killed sweet, gentle Camden Jacks.

"Sad thing," the deputy had said, shaking his head while he wrote down the last notes on his report. "I was always worried Camden would get hurt out here around all this machinery." He'd looked Dean in the eye, like he was sharing some big secret. "Poor guy weren't right, ya' know?"

Nan, the hardware store lady, had shown up right after cops and was taking Ray in hand when Dean nudged Sam toward the Impala and they'd both disappeared out onto the road.

Case closed.

"You think Ray's going to be all right?" Sam had been quiet, staring out the window counting fence posts, until now.

"Don't know him well enough to say." Dean kept a tight grip on the wheel. He'd rather just leave it all back at Block Party instead of this debriefing Sam always wanted after a hunt. "If he listens to his brother, he will."

"That supposed to be an FYI for me?" Sam jerked Dad's journal out from under the seat and flipped it open to start a new entry about this hunt. He was anal but it certainly made for more accurate references when they needed them.

"I'm just sayin'."

Sam scribbled for a while, lost in the details while they were still fresh. It was nice to be quiet. Dean's ears were still ringing from the wind. This had been a rough one. Dead kids were going to be a lot harder to deal with from now on. That reminded him of something, a very important loose end.

"Sam, what about Kate? How are we going to let her family know to stop looking?"

"When she bounced the block that last time, a couple of bones and a tennis shoe fell out." Sam never looked up from his work, like a dead kids bones and shoes were just another day at work. Fucked up as it sounded, they were. "Ray's going to point them out to the cops and tell them where the wreck came from and a DNA test should settle it. The Hannaley's can bury her and put it to rest."

"That's good. They probably won't know what happened, but at least they can bury her. They'll know where she is." There was a sudden tightness in his gut that just wouldn't let go. "Must have been hell, the not knowing."

"Yeah."

"I mean, I didn't know where Emily was for a few hours and then when I thought she was…was…well, I don't ever want to feel that again." Nope. Emily wasn't going to walk home from school alone. Hell no. He was going to be there to walk her into her classroom and he'd be at the door waiting. Where she went, he was going. It only took thirty minutes on her own for Kate Hannaley to disappear for good. Dean wasn't going to forget that lesson.

"You can always Lojack her. Maybe one of those computer chips they implant in dogs in case they get lost?"

Sam was laughing at him. Dean hated it when he got down to a serious soul-baring moment and Sam had to chap his ass by laughing at him.

"Oh, I know! You can just enroll in kindergarten with her. Review might do you good."

"You really suck at this sharing and caring bullshit."

He tried to smack the back of Sam's head, but he moved, still laughing like a fucking hyena. Sam held up his hand in surrender. "Look, I'm sorry. But you tend to get a little, uh, obsessive."

"Obsessive my ass! Since when?"

"Since I was in kindergarten and you cut the first day of fourth grade to sit under the window of my classroom all day. Jesus, Dean, the counselor called Dad and everything." Sam had this I-know-every-fucking-thing-about-you look on his face that was just the end all piss off of everything.

"And nothing got you, did it, bitch?" So there.

Sam slowly stopped laughing. "No, it didn't and nothing's going to get her either." He went back to the journal in his lap. "Maybe we take turns under the window."

"Now who's obsessive?"

"It's contagious."

The Impala turned into Singer Auto Salvage, stirring up dust behind it. It had been a long night and all Dean's body wanted to do was flop into bed. But there was a little girl who was more than awake by now and a GTO that had to be done by tomorrow because he'd already been given one extra day and he needed the cash for the move and—

"Daddy!"

The screen door slammed behind Emily as she bounced out of the house and ran full throttle toward the car. Two puppies were on her tail, willing to go where ever she went because they could be with her. Smart puppies.

He opened the door and filled up his arms with Emily and didn't feel quite so exhausted anymore.

TBC

***


	23. Chapter 23

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 23

By: Suz Mc

Fried chicken. It smelled good for a dream about food. He could smell deep fried chicken and the faint scent of cardboard that mingled with it from the bucket when the chicken was the good greasy kind that was gonna' kill him one day. How could Sam always order grilled or baked or some other bastardized version of chicken with it smelled like that?

Dean rolled over and snuggled something warm and soft up around his neck. Airheads Xtreme. That was the other smell. He hated those things. Sam's shameful weakness was those Airheads Xtreme. Stashed them in his bag so he could pretend to be Health Master, then Dean would catch him with one of those sweet and sour sugar sprinkled nightmares hanging out of his mouth like he was pukin' a rainbow. Those little grains of sugar that sloughed off of the strips and got down in the stitched grooves in his upholstery. Took forever to get that shit out of the seats. Worse than blood.

Something was tickling his nose, screwing up his dream of smelling chicken. The dream let go and he smelled Emily on the blanket under his nose and he woke up fully and jerked himself upright. It was hard to remember a time when he just eased himself awake without startling and feeling guilty for wasting time sleeping.

Emily's Disney princess blanket was draped over him and she was sprawled out on the floor beside his bed, gnawing on a multicolor ribbon of candy and coloring.

"Hey, Daddy. You were super duper tired."

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, checking his watch. "Did you cover me up with your blanket, Cutie Pie?" Now he remembered lying down to close his eyes and hearing, "Sleep tight, sleepy Daddy," and telling her he just needed to rest his eyes. That had turned into three hours wasted.

"You snore." Emily turned her face up toward him and smiled, big and bright.

He scrubbed his face to wake up then reached down to tickle her neck. She laughed and grabbed his fingers. "Did your Uncle Sammy give you those?"

She popped another long string of chewy candy into her mouth and let it dangle out the side while she talked. "Uncle Sammy said I could have the whole bag if I'd stop talking so he could get some sleep."

"Who's been watching you?" Shit. Three hours was way longer than the thirty minutes that had gobbled up Kate Hannaley. Now, Dean was fully stomach-in-his-face awake.

"Uncle Sammy stayed awake till Uncle Bobby getted back from the post office wiff his box." Emily stood up and waggled a piece of candy in his direction, one cheek stuffed like a chipmunk. "He said not to eat 'em all or I'd get sick, but he was wrong!" With a quick spring, she was on her feet standing in between his knees. The sugar buzz was zooming through her voice as she rattled the last piece around inside the plastic bag. "Want some? They're guuuuuud!"

Sam's stash was always in a gallon sized Ziploc and if it was half full gigantor baby brother considered it empty and refilled it. Holy shit, he was going to have to perform an Airhead exorcism. "Did you eat this whole bag?"

"Yeah! Let's go play with the puppies!" She had his hand and was dragging him downstairs. Sam's ass was gonna' be toast.

"You have to eat some regular lunch, okay, kiddo?" Hell, he was never going to finish that car unless he was able to douse Emily's sugar buzz down to a hum.

"Okay. I like lunch. I smell chicken. Chicken is good. Do you like chicken? Drumsticks are best. You can eat them with your fingers and not get fussed at." She was holding his hand and bouncing, no, hopping down each step.

"Easy does it, Cutie. You're going to break your neck."

"No I won't! I'm a bunny! Hop-hop!" And then she stumbled and he caught her and Sam was going to pay out the ass for this.

"See?" Emily's face was close to his and she was happy and wired like a Christmas tree and he had to smooch her cheek. If she could stay just like this, small enough to hold and only needing candy and coloring books to be happy he just might not fuck it all up.

"My neck's not broke!" Her look turned sideways for a second and Dean felt her hand on his ear. "You got a boo-boo and it bleeded. Did that ghost girl do that?" Emily was eyeballing his scraped ear and her expression turned dark. "Sum of a bitch!"

"That's not nice. It's not a happy word, remember." His face hurt as he tried to keep it still and not let out the belly laugh bubbling in his throat. Not a happy word. He'd actually said it. Holy shit.

"Oops! I'm not happy at that mean ghost girl." Emily leaned over to put a kiss on his wounded ear. "Did you git her?"

He reached up to push some hair out of her face. "She wasn't really mean, just scared. She went on to be with her mama and—"

Shit. Those big eyes, all wild with candy overdose bliss got bigger. Mama. That word was a loaded one for Emily and Dean didn't know what the hell to do about it. Calley deserved to be remembered. Emily deserved his help to do that. But now, it was crazy to think that word would do anything but make Emily sad.

In a beat, Emily's smile came back, like she was letting him off the hook. "Maybe ghost girl and her mama can have a tea party wiff my mama."

Damn. She could see that, could see a beyond that was happy for her mother that didn't include screaming and fire. It was hopeful and unexpected.

"Tell ya what," he said, bouncing her a little in his arms, "I'll go downstairs and get lunch out of that bucket Bobby has on the table and you go wake up Uncle Sammy."

"He was asleeping a lot." Emily's hand was nervously patting his shoulder like some tweaker strung out on sugar coated crank.

"Oh, he likes it when people wake him up. He has a hard time getting up on his own because of his great big enormous head." Dean reversed up a couple of stairs then set Emily on her feet. "But you need to be really quiet going in then, jump right up on him. That's the best way to wake him up."

"Okay!" The sugar rush was going on its way to be repaid as Emily did a wiggly tip-toe down the hallway to Sam's room.

Dean was at the foot of the stairs when he heard Sam's electrified "WHAT THE HELL?!" followed by Emily's giggled, "Daddy said your big head was hard to wake up! I ate all the candy!"

Dean made it into the kitchen with a smile on his face and started to work getting the friggin' glorious chicken out of the bucket. One drumstick for Emily. No ghost to deal with. He could mark that off his to do list. All that was left was to finish the GTO and get them to what could maybe be a life in Kans-ass.

He laughed while getting Emily's blue Koolaid. Even when it ran through his mind now it was Kans-ass. Yeah, the claims on his time were narrowing now. GTO. Cash for a new life. Cleaning the decks of Emily's dreamlife from John Winchester or some whatever wannabe sandman. Maybe that message he'd sent had been delivered. Emily would have to let him know in her own little way.

"Get some shuteye, Sleepin' Beauty?" Bobby tossed a box on the counter and grabbed a plate.

"What's in the box?" Dean watched Bobby's blank expression. Why the hell didn't anyone get his Brad Pitt? "Something inflatable, maybe?"

"Grow up." Bobby slid his chair back and took a seat. "Oh, your GTO customer called and he wants something else."

"What? He'd better not want the shit today then." Dean started eating standing up.

"He wants to upgrade the clutch and the brakes to go with the Protuner you put in."

"He said he didn't want to do that, because he didn't have the money."

"Well, now he does and he'll go the extra dough." Bobby grabbed some fries out of the bucket and grinned. "He just needed to be persuaded that being a cheap son of a bitch with his car wasn't professional. Got you an extra five out of the deal."

Five hundred bucks wasn't something to turn away, not now. "How much time do I have?"

"Said he'll be workin' a job in Iowa for a couple of days." Bobby brightened up in the direction of the door. "Hey, Sam. You get some sleep?"

Sam was lumbering off the last stair with Emily riding on his back. "Yeah. Me and my big head might have slept all day if Em hadn't helped me wake up."

"Drumstick!" Emily let go of Sam's neck and dropped to the floor with an electrified sugary leap.

"Thanks for that dessert first policy, Uncle Sammy." Dean shoved a chair over for his brother. Sam grabbed it by the back to keep him from yanking it out from under him when he sat down.

Sam lowered his voice to a whisper. "I didn't know she'd eat it all, but you didn't have to send her to jump on me like a spider monkey. Scared the hell out of me."

"Hell's not a happy word!" Emily waved the drumstick in the air, squirming around in her seat like she had ants in her pants.

"No kidding." Dean eased down into the chair beside her and prayed for the sugar to work its way out of Emily's system quickly so he could get his ass to work.

***

The first thing Sam noticed when he got to Bobby's rickety garage was a pair of pink tennis shoes dangling out of the GTO's open door. Dean was in his permanent place under the hood, scribbling on a piece of paper with the radio humming from its place on a fifty gallon drum to the side.

Dean eased himself from under the hood and peered in at Emily through the windshield, smiling down at her like he was looking through the glass in a maternity ward. Dean would have been the perfect picture of a ridiculous dad flinging around cigars to announce Emily's birth if he'd had the opportunity to be there. It was sad that he missed all that. But he was making up for it by wringing every ounce of love in his battle worn body out onto this little girl and doing it happily. It was almost like the switch to being a dad wasn't phasing him at all. For all the talk Dean had done over the years about them not having a future or family beyond each other, for all the resignation his brother had accepted that their lives would end sad or bloody, he was putting all that away and committing to making a life for Emily and all of them that was as close to normal as Winchesters could get. Sam couldn't help but embrace it all with a cautious relief. It could have gone bad so easily, so quickly with Emily, and Dean might not have recovered. It still might. Dean had tossed away his pessimism. Sam was picking it up.

"Wow, that was one jacked up two hours." Sam leaned down to get a full view of Emily splayed out across the bucket seats, one hand over her head and the other draped down to rub against the floor mat under the steering wheel. She was dusty and spent, mouth open and snoring.

"Thanks to you, Willy Wonka." Dean ripped off the page he'd made notes on and shoved it into his pocket. "FYI, when you give a four year old a bag of candy and cut her loose, it's all going straight into her mouth."

"Glad she finally gave out. How many laps did you do around the house chasing the puppies?" The soundtrack had been hilarious. Barking yip dogs. Emily's squealing crack-high laughter. Dean's voice yelling, "Slow down!"

"The Great Sugar Crash of 2012 happened thirty minutes ago. I'm shocked she didn't puke after the seventh lap. Convinced her to come over here so I could make a parts list and when I looked up she'd passed out like a sailor on shore leave." One of the puppies sniffed Emily's shoe, licked her ankle, then wobbled away sadly when she didn't respond.

Sam made himself comfortable on an overturned crate, letting the puppy wiggle around his feet. It was odd to have this down time with nothing earth destroying to fill it. No job was on the horizon, so they were left with the unsettlingly weird business of trying to be normal. Ghosts, rituals, and battle were comfortable. It was busy and loud and made you live moment, to moment so interested in staying alive that you didn't worry about futures and plans.

Dean could feel it, too. It was awkward and off balance, but they were both trying to pretend it wasn't.

"Shame I've got to wake her up soon."

"Are you nuts? Let her sleep it off, genius." The puppy wasn't going to get off his foot so he gave in and picked it up. Tiny sharp teeth scratched against his thumb and he was surprised at the strength behind the playful bite.

"I wish," Dean said, swigging from a water bottle he'd pulled out of the car. "I got to drive an hour, all the way to Madison, to get the parts if I'm gonna finish this mother in time."

"Wasn't that the place with the psychotic fairies the summer before my senior year?" Fairies were bad enough, but mentally deranged fairies were the things hunter nightmares were made of.

Dean started laughing. "Yeah, that's the place. Remember how that one had a thing for zippers and kept yanking down Dad's fly? Man, he was so pissed. Nearly burned down the whole friggin' forest."

Sam was laughing, too. Dad all red-faced and swinging around his shotgun like that would do anything against fairies. Dean fighting off a fairy who liked slicing off his buttons while he lost his breath laughing at pissed off John Winchester in his boxers. Sam giggling through a spell and having to do it four times because he couldn't pronounce, incant, and breathe while he watched Dad fight off a perverted lunatic fairy. It was so fucked up that this was one of his fondest memories of the three of them together.

"Remember that college bar there with all the pool tables?" Dean was smiling like the pool tables were women. "Frat boy assholes are so easy to hustle. Made a fuckin' killing in that place. Wonder if it's still there? I could really use a score, but that's no place for a kid." He shook his head to clear the trip down memory lane. "Better get her up so we can get going. We can be there and back by dark if I get moving now."

Dean was about to scoop Emily out of the front seat when Sam decided to intervene. "Why don't you just go and leave her here with me. Go get the parts, go to the bar. Play some pool."

"You trying to get rid of me?" Dean was looking at him hard, like he was waiting for a punch line. Truth be told, Sam did want to spend some time with Emily and be sure she didn't have any lingering bad feelings about their secret. He just needed to be more confident that it was handled.

"You know how you get when you don't get laid and I don't want to drive all the way to Kansas with your cranky unlaid ass."

"You know, Sam, I'm not a slave to my glands. I'm just a bit insulted by that implication."

"Bullshit. Go get laid and go get some money, too. You get as bitchy about an empty pocket as you do about not getting any."

Dean made a careful assessment of his daughter cutting some z's inside the car. "You sure? I could really use the cash if there's suckers to be had there."

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll store her in a drawer or something till you get back."

"You don't think she'll be upset that I'm gone, do you?" Dean was close to changing his mind.

"Look, you've got many years ahead of tucking this kid in and I'm not going to be your live in babysitter. Take the offer while it's here, jerk. Might be your last chance for a while."

"Okay, but no more candy."

It was pure father speak. "No more candy? This coming from the guy who can eat chocolate pie for breakfast? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"I see where this is going. You're setting yourself up to be the favorite here while I get to be the mean bastard who says no. Nice suck up move, Sammy." Dean waved a hand over Emily to get a fly off of her leg.

"Totally, dude. This uncle crap is going to be da' bomb."

"Okay, make sure she gets a bath. It'll help her go to sleep." He started moving toward the house, stopped, and came back.

"Bath, got it."

"And don't forget her music."

"I know."

Dean was moving again, stopping after five feet. "Her blanket is in my room."

"No problem."

Ten feet this time. "Not too much to drink before she goes to bed or—"

"God! Will you go already?!"

"Fine." Dean walked away mumbling under his breath. "I'll be back by midnight."

Sam watched Dean finally make it all the way into the house, then he turned his attention to the little girl in his care. "Looks like it's just you and me, kid. You and me." He made his way over to the car where Emily was still sprawled out in her Airhead induced stupor. She barely wiggled when he slid his hands under her body and lifted her out of the car and into his arms.

****

The afternoon had gone by uneventfully. Emily hadn't been too upset that Dean was gone "to show dufuses that they couldn't play pool" and she wasn't any trouble at all to handle. Her nap and a normal dinner had leveled off the havoc her Airheads overdose had left in its wake and now they were outside in the fading daylight rounding up the puppies to put them to bed for the night.

"Come 'ere, baby."

Emily called softly to a puppy that had wandered far away to the edge of the lot and walked slowly after it. She was getting tired too, her wobbling matching the puppy's lazy amble toward the area where the brush was thicker and blending back into a darker unkept area of trees. Sam closed that gap between them. It was too dim to tell if something was crawling around in the bushes, so he wanted to get closer.

The puppy whined just a little when Emily scooped him up into her arms and held him like a fat babydoll, but he settled when she rubbed his belly. "Hush, baby. Time for sleepy."

A puppy squirming in the crook of his own arm, Sam stopped beside Emily, resting a hand on her head. "Did you ever name that one?"

"His name is Baby."

"How 'bout the one I've got?" Sam's puppy wasn't quite as docile, chewing on his shirtsleeve and wagging his tail.

"His name is Baby, too."

"Are they all named Baby?"

"Uh huh." The little girl snuggled and kissed the completely spoiled pup and she leaned comfortably against Sam's leg.

"How do you know who's who?"

"They know who they are, silly!"

It made perfect sense to her and she looked up at him with a sideways grin and blinked both eyes and there was no doubt whose kid she was. Sam eased one hand under Baby's back and lifted him out of Emily's hands, then packed the puppy in his other arm beside Baby Too.

"I'm going to put them in the box for the night. Be right back."

It took less than two minutes to walk around the side of the house, dump the puppies, and get back to the grass. The happy normal moment they'd just had drizzled away when he caught sight of Emily staring into the trees. It didn't take long to figure out what had her transfixed in the near darkness.

Fireflies.

They were darting around the edge of the brush, coming out to enjoy one of the last few warm nights before the temperature began to drop and they disappeared to where ever fireflies went in South Dakota when the cold set in.

_Don't do it, Emily. Please don't._

She wasn't smiling or frowning, just focused on the blinking bugs dancing in front of her.

_Fight it, kid. Please._

The tiny hand dangling at her side opened and closed and the slow motion move of her arm as it raised made something fall inside Sam's chest.

TBC

***


	24. Chapter 24

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 24

By: Suz Mc

Life changing events seem to take the oxygen and sound out of the air. Oh, they're still there, you just can't breathe or hear. Sam had been in enough heartbreak moments to know how they felt. Watching Emily raise her hand toward fireflies, knowing that she was no match for the addictive force inside her body, qualified as heartbreaking.

The air was sizzling with the unnatural force invading it as if it planned to fight against her. Emily's name was on his tongue, dry and sad, waiting to be said only Sam could bring himself to say it. If he did, she'd look over with her sad eyes and she'd know that he knew and he'd have to admit that he was wrong.

She stood perfectly still, all except her tiny fingers moving and outstretched in the hazy evening. Her eyes weren't focused on the fireflies flitting around the edge of the trees. Emily was looking everywhere but there, searching.

Then she sucked in a deep breath and lowered her hand back down to her side.

Sam felt a rush of something like pride, something like pure unadulterated joy that made his knees almost bend with the relief of it all.

Emily looked over at him, a corner of her lip bitten tightly between her teeth and he gave her the smile she deserved and joined her. She'd fought off a dragon and that meant she could do it and this was going to be all right. Before he said a word, he picked her up and held her close to his chest. She knew what she'd done and now she knew how he felt about it and skinny little girl arms squeezed him tight, relaxing after the battle she'd just won with herself.

"Let me show you how to catch fireflies the right way, Em."

He kept her balanced in the bend of his arm, heading them off to celebrate her victory with something as everyday as firefly catching. Bobby's tool shed was like a treasure hunt for kids and he and Dean had found pirate gold, swords, and canon balls disguised as scrap metal, tire irons, and bowling balls in that shed. The light still worked, even if it was flickering just a bit.

"How do we catch 'em, Uncle Sammy?" She was hanging onto his shoulder, voice still a little shaky as she realized that the storm had passed.

A jar of nails and a jar of screws were soon empty and on their way to being firefly homesteads. "You take jars like these," Sam unscrewed the lids and put the jars in Emily's hands, "and you poke holes in the lids."

"Why?"

He found a clean place to plant her bottom on the work bench. "Because fireflies need air just like you."

A phillips head screwdriver and hammer did significant abuse to the metal jar lids to keep a few bugs alive for an hour or two.

"How do we get 'em to go in there?"

He had her back on his hip and heading toward the great outdoors, happier than he could imagine. She'd done it. That tiny girl had said no in a big way to life destroying power and they were going to celebrate big time.

"I'll show you." Sam set her on her feet and the edge of trees and took an open jar in one hand and a lid in the other. "Wait for them to come to us."

She was hanging on his every word, watching his eyes, his hands, the fireflies as they came in closer drawn to their body heat. Emily held her jar and lid poised to strike exactly like he did.

"Now?"

"Wait for it." They were coming closer of their own free will and when two were drifting and blinking in front of them, Sam looped the jar in a downward arc, trapping the fireflies inside by slapping the lid on tight. "See? Now you do it."

Emily preferred to stalk her prey, moving carefully in between the bumps of lights that appeared then disappeared. It took a few tries to actually pin one of the fireflies but she managed three in one swoop and squealed out loud.

"I GOT 'EM!" She was so overjoyed that she forgot the lid and spent the next twenty minutes returning the fireflies to bug jail.

Sam just sat and watched while the moon came out and Emily got the hang of firefly catching and he had the weird suburban urge to go buy a video camera. After a time, the fireflies passed the word that there was an insane little girl kidnapping their kind and their numbers dwindled.

Emily plopped on the ground beside Sam to display her catch. "It's like a bouncy nightlight, Uncle Sammy. Just look!"

"I see. You're good at this."

"I didn't want to be bad."

They weren't talking about fireflies anymore.

"You're not bad, Emily and I'm proud of you for not using it tonight." Emily knew what "it" was. He didn't have to elaborate. "You're a Winchester and you're very brave."

"It's scary sometimes."

There was nothing that was going to keep that kid out of his lap and he pulled her in close, jar of light held tightly in her hands and glowing between them.

"I know, but do you understand why you can't use it? Because it'll get bigger and bigger and if you hurt someone badly enough it might be too big to ever fix, Em. That's a horrible feeling to wish you could take something back that you can't." He'd gone too far into grown up freak territory and the look of puzzlement on her face confirmed it.

But she was smarter than he'd given her credit for.

"Did you do something too big to take back?"

"Yes."

"Did it hurt somebody?"

"Yes."

"Does Daddy know?"

Does Daddy know? Does Dean know? Dean knew too much, but he didn't know the worst of it. He didn't know the thing that would probably seal Sam Winchester's damnation for all time. Dean thought he knew the whole and entire shame of blood and apocalypse, but he never heard Cindy McLellan screaming and begging for her life while a demon violated her insides and some crazed, self-righteous monster drained her blood and left her to die sealed in the trunk of a car. But Sam Winchester's cracked out brain didn't see her as human, just a tool in his mission. Hell, he'd crazily thought at one point that if she knew her part in girding his loins for the fight, Cindy McLellan, R.N. would have been glad to sacrifice her blood for the fight. Sam was grateful and shamed that the murder of Cindy McLellan was a raging blur in his mind. If it were clear, he doubted his sanity could take it.

No, Dean didn't know. The witnesses were dead, but Cindy often visited Sam's dreams, or her husband did. He woke in a cold sweat, feeling some kind of penance was accomplished every night that Cindy tortured him for a change and got a pound of his sleeping flesh.

"Your Daddy loves you no matter what, Emily. You don't have to worry about that, ever." It didn't answer her question, but she gave a big yawn and evidently didn't have the energy to press the issue. "Let's go get that bath."

***

Some nights were just lucky. Well, luck may not have been the word Dean was searching for because luck was what you needed when you didn't have skills. He had mad skills when it came to snuffing a pack of college boy pricks at the table. Daddy's money had flowed as easily from their pockets to his as the beer did down their throats. Sometimes a college town could be the happiest hunting ground of all. College boys didn't tend to get pissed and kick your ass like bikers when they lost at pool. Just looked all drunk and stunned as you took their money and moved on to the ladies at the bar.

Dean eased into a corner booth to count his money. The boys were digging change out of their pockets at the bar to settle their tab and he couldn't resist a tip of his bottle toward them. Dumbasses should thank him for taking them through Dean 101 in less than an hour and only charging them four Benjamins to do it.

_I thank you and my kid thanks you, assholes._

It felt good to have more money in his pocket. Dude was coming to pick up his souped up GTO in a few days and that would add to the stash. He sure as hell didn't want to start off his life with his kid by taking her dead mother's money, even though Sam and Bobby kept pushing him to do just that. Calley left that for Emily, not to take care of the guy who'd hurt her. He was going to take care of his own kid and when she turned eighteen, she'd be able to have whatever life she wanted with all that money.

Four girls burst in through the door, all hair and heels, yanking his attention away from thoughts. Lady luck was shining on Dean Winchester tonight as he read the print stretched across the front of the girls' identical t-shirts.

_Hooters. Hooter Girls. Holy hotwings, Batman, we have a winner. Times four. _

The girls were laughing and talking, high heels clicking across the floor and drawing the attention of every guy with a pulse to their cutoff shorts. The place was full and it wasn't hard to notice that they were looking around for a place to sit together. Three brunettes and a blonde. Damn.

Dean silently thanked his brother for convincing him to go out and spread both arms over the back of the rounded booth. "Ladies, I'd be more than happy to hand over this fine booth to thank you for improving the scenery around here." He waved and they appraised him for a moment, whispering and finally agreeing to come on over.

He slid out of the booth and let the ladies slide in.

"You are so sweet! Thank you!"

Perfume and giggles and hair and hot girls. Damn.

"My pleasure." He winked. Girls ate that shit up. "I'll just leave you to your fun and go stand at the bar alone."

Sam called it his model face, like it was a bad thing. Hell, Sam even played a drinking game one night at a bar and took a drink every time Dean used it.

_Jealous, much, Sammy?_

The blonde reached out and grabbed his sleeve. "No way we're letting you get away with all these sharks in here. You can be our bodyguard." She pulled him onto the seat beside her and looped her arm through his.

"How 'bout I buy the first round?" Dean threw up a finger at the waitress and the beer started flowing.

Yep. No luck, just mad skills.

***

This was the best part of the day, sitting here in the quiet waiting for Emily to drift off into sleep so he could join her. It was going to be tea party night, or so Emily had informed him on their last outing. John Winchester didn't know jackshit about tea parties, but it was her turn to pick. Those were the rules.

John had tuned in to the Sam and Emily show at bath time and it was friggin' hilarious. Somehow Sam hadn't gotten the memo about four-year-olds getting a kick out of leaping from the bathtub buck-ass naked and running around like some National Geographic episode. Wrestling with a moldy zombie was easier than wrangling a wet giggling kid.

_Yeah, Sammy, see how that bulk you're so proud of helps you now._

John felt his chest swell with pride watching Sammy care for Dean's little girl. They were going to do this together, the way he'd always wanted them to live. Side by side. Back to back. The boys were going to do this right, not the way they learned from their old man.

Emily's music was playing now and Sam had waited by the door until she fell asleep, keeping watch, taking his job seriously.

_Relax, boy. I got this._

This had been the hard part to get the hang of, the letting go and falling out of himself and into Emily's mind. That's where dreams were to be found. Letting go, relaxing and clearing his mind was just way too New Age bullshit when there was work to be done. Now, he just had to close his eyes and reach out for Emily. The last time, she'd started to reach back to him because she knew he was coming. The mental embrace was the most pure, unblemished thing he'd ever known.

He let go, trying to fall into that warmth again.

And nothing happened. No warmth. No Emily. Just himself.

John looked down at the little girl, round pink cheeks puffing out air in rhythm to her sleep. Another deep breath. His mind was filled with Emily and he let go again. This time there was movement, a feeling of detachment to anything concrete.

He reached out to find her and collided with an ice cold barrier, hitting it so hard he felt a spiritual sting that sliced and burned. The pain sent him jolting back into consciousness and left him gasping on his knees.

Over and over he hit the same barrier, agony building with each thrust that sent him flying back into his own consciousness until his ears were roaring and his vision was blurred.

"John? Oh my God, what's wrong?"

Calley's voice. Calley's hands on his face trying to get him to focus.

"What…why are you here?"

She was beside him now, looking back and forth from Heaven to Earth, from her paradise prison to where she longed to be. Calley helped him to right himself and the cold stab smacked him again, like a warning shot that would be fatal next time.

"I've been coming to watch after you go into her dreams. I can't see what happens, but I can watch her sleep and know she's okay. Why aren't you in there now?" There was an edge of panic beginning to weave in between her words.

"You shouldn't be here." He tried to push against the barrier again and the pain screamed in his head making everything black with cracking cold like ice breaking between his teeth.

"What's happening? John, please talk to me."

Her hands were on his shirt, tugging and pleading.

"Can't get to her."

This was the Heaven he'd wanted, to feel and experience pain and pleasure just like his human self. Fucking bad idea at this juncture.

"What do you mean you can't get to her?!"

John shoved her off of his chest and tried to steady his own breathing. "Just what I said. I can't get to her. Something's blocking me."

"What? Is it the demon? Please say it's not." Calley had left him to pace back and forth on the ledge, keeping watch for some small reaction or change in her daughter's sleep.

"No, it's not like that. It's a barrier not an entity." It was like hitting a flash frozen block of dry ice, burning and freezing at the same time. No consciousness, just hard and unmoveable.

The desperation grew with Calley's every breath, with every second. "It comes in her dream every time you're there, doesn't it? The demon that gives her nightmares and makes her scream, right?"

"Yes. It has every time."

Every time he fell into Emily's dream he pulled her out of that inferno, away from her mother's bubbling burning flesh, and then he walled up the demon and let Emily free into her sweet little girl dreams that weren't tortured horror movies.

"I don't understand, John! Why is this happening? What's going to happen to her now without you there?" Calley leaned forward, as if she could fling herself down onto Emily's bed and curl around her for protection. "Do something! Somebody do something!"

Calley screamed herself hoarse, venting all of her anger and frustration about Emily's pain and her own. Boulders rolled down the mountainside as the woman kicked and cursed, let all of her civilized barriers go in a fit of rage at the white hot unfairness of it all.

John stood there waiting and watching. The rage was pointless and he just let Calley play herself out until she collapsed in a sobbing heap on the ground. He'd been way too arrogant and way too indiscrete with rule bending and now Emily was the one who was going to pay for it.

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 25

By: Suz Mc

Lexi the Blonde had been more than a little pissed when she came back from the bathroom to find her three friends had high tailed it out of the bar and left her behind. Brunette with the Red Nails had received a call on her cell to let her know her boyfriend was spotted with another girl and she and the others had rushed out into the night to hunt him down.

"How could those bitches do that?! Just leave me here?!"

Lexi's buzz was making her just a bit emotional and before she could start crying like chicks were prone to do in that state, Dean hugged an arm around her shoulder. "Don't worry about them, sweetheart. You've still got your bodyguard, right?"

"I rode with them. What am I going to do?" To ease her distress, Lexi grabbed the fresh shot Dean had just bought for himself and sucked it down her throat.

"I'd be glad to give you a ride." And he certainly would love to do just that as he used his sincere model face. Take that, Sammy.

Lexi's mood changed immediately and she wiggled her arm around his waist and hugged herself in against his body. She wasn't upset at all when she shoved a handful of blonde curly hair out of her face and ran the tip of her tongue out of the corner of her mouth to lick the last remaining drop of Jello shot. "You're my knight in shining armor and I bet you have a white horse right outside, don't you, baby?"

He could take a hint and they headed toward the door. "As a matter of fact, I've got a black horse waiting to take you anywhere you want to go, ma'am." She was smoking hot, tucked up under his arm. Even those high heels didn't get her up past his shoulder. His buzz was exactly right to make him warm and ready when Lexi's hand tucked itself just inside the back of his waistband.

_Those of us about to get laid say, 'Thank you, Sammy.'"_

***

The razor sharp edge of a scream was enough to get Sam's body moving seconds before his mind caught up to the action. There were words mixed in with the shrill screaming coming from Emily's room. He had to grab the doorway to keep his bare feet from sliding out from under him when he made it to her room.

"Emily?!" The screaming was coming from the general direction of her bed but the moonlight showed nothing but a violent jumble of covers.

"GO AWAY!!!!!"

The pleading scream came from under the little girl's bed and Sam dropped to his knees, jerking back the blankets that blocked his view. Emily was cowering under the bed frame, her little eyes wide and terrified in the dark.

"It's me, Sweetie. Come out." He reached in to take her hand only to have her withdraw further into the haven of the darkness. "It's me, Uncle Sammy."

"NO! Go away! Go away, monster!" She didn't look at him, just curled on her side, hands plastered against her face, and kept screaming. She ran through the list of people in her world, begging for one of them to help her out of the nightmare that was choking her. Emily's voice rattled as she called for Mama, Daddy, even Uncle Sammy.

Every time he reached, she pulled further away and no matter what Sam said to comfort her, Emily's waking nightmare refused to give way to reality.

"GRANDPA JOHN! PLEASE! I'LL BE GOOD!"

"Emily, you're having a bad dream." He tried to keep his voice calm and smooth in an attempt to soothe down the edges of her panic. "I'm not going to let anything hurt you."

His fingers finally brushed against her arm, sending her into a deeper, ear-splitting terror. She was as far under the bed as she could get and still be out of his reach, when the darkened light bulb beside her bed exploded into life and shattered with enough force to send slivers of glass flying through the room. Blood ran down Sam's cheek as one piece sliced into his skin.

Her sobbing had transformed into a loud, sorrowful wail. Waiting it out, letting her stay trapped in some terrifying nightmare loop, wasn't acceptable. Quickly, he got to his feet and grabbed the bed frame with both hands to pull it off of her. For a few heartbreaking seconds, Emily didn't move. Her tiny body was crunched into a ball, face plastered to the floor to avoid seeing whatever monster was coming for her.

The cool air hit Emily's back before Sam could get his hands on her and she let out a sharp shriek and scrambled away toward the far wall of the bedroom. A few broken shards of the light bulb crunched underneath her knees and hands, leaving little bloody splotches staining the rug. In an instant, she'd covered the ground to huddle against the wall, too deep in her terror to let the pain stop her escape.

"It hurts! Daddy!" Big dark eyes, wild with the image of a phantom monster filling them up, darted across the room looking for a way out, looking for a savior.

Evidently, Sam wasn't the embodiment of a savior. He had become the monster. Quickly, he grabbed the corner of the rug and flipped it away, clearing most of the glass with it. He put a harder edge to his voice. "Wake up, Emily! Now!"

The little girl only sobbed harder, nearly the quality of a seizure as the strength of it took hold of her entire body. Her right hand clawed at some invisible attack on her left arm as she relived being burned mercilessly by the demon.

"Stopstopstopstop!"

Sam was big, enormous compared to the slip of a child in front of him, but his size couldn't match her speed as Emily darted toward the open window, trying to flee her hallucination. It took every inch of his reach coupled with a leap of faith across the floor to get his grip to the back of her nightgown before Emily was able to dive out the open second story window that was her only escape from the monster melting her flesh. The force of that momentum took them both to the floor and Emily became a screaming, twisting mad-girl in Sam's arms.

"Emily, stop! I've got you. Stop." He banded his arms around her tightly, hoping to stop her body so her mind could make a connection with something real.

She'd gone beyond words to some primal roar, throwing her head back toward his face and nearly smashing against Sam's nose. Emily jerked and kicked, one foot knocking both jars of fireflies on the windowsill out into the air to shatter on the ground below.

"What the hell!" Bobby was at the door now, plainly caught off guard by the sight of Sam wrestling on the floor with a screaming banshee in his grasp.

Sam couldn't spare the time to answer. He had to use his last resort to break through Emily's nonstop loop of agony and fear. Freeing his right hand, he struggled to get a grip on Emily's right hand. He'd avoided that contact for almost two weeks because it was a reminder of how far from normal her life was going to be, how far from normal his had been. Emily had said no to that current of power in her veins, now Sam was going to inject it back into her. When he found her palm, he closed around it, flattening their hands together. The bite of a piece of glass sticking out of her hand sliced into his, mixing his blood with the blood already oozing out of Emily's tiny hand. The bite gave way to a humming buzz that raced up Sam's arm and flowed back down into Emily's.

That contact derailed Emily's nightmare and her body went limp as reality formed back around her. For a few seconds there was only the sound of both Emily and Sam gasping in hard gulps of air as the shock of the circuit between them ebbed back and forth. It was stronger this time, more intense than the other times when Sam had held her palm lightly against his, hoping that he'd find the power had melted away into nothing. The currents braided together between them, welding their hands like some magnet on steroids.

Sam heard the faint sound of more glass breaking and then darkness falling around them as the huge halogen light outside broke into a million crystals and showered down into the front yard. It was hot where their hands were clasped together and Emily's body went even more slack against his chest. Sam's head fell back against the wall and a dull ache began to take over his skull. But there was something different this time, some other residual wave of energy that wasn't Sam and wasn't Emily. It was like the scent left behind after someone with strong perfume had left the room. A echo of something that didn't belong and had damn sure not been in their contact before tonight.

Then it was gone.

Bobby's rough hands had pulled theirs apart and he crouched on the floor in front of them, his face haggard and pale. Emily snapped back into reality, her dream terror gone and replaced by real pain and confusion. Now she was crying those terrible hiccupping sobs as Bobby examined her hands and knees and Sam struggled to get them into a more upright position.

"My God, what happened in here, Sam?" Bobby was helping him to stand and hold onto Emily at the same time. Emily's body was a hot, sweaty bundle in his arms and she twisted quickly against his chest, soaking his t-shirt as she wept.

"Nightmare. Bad one." Sam didn't spare too many words for Bobby, preferring to rock Emily and whisper down over her head. "It's over, sweetie. Shhhh, I gotcha'."

"Want my daddy." Her other bloody hand wriggled under Sam's sleeve, searching for a comforting mark that he just didn't have.

"It's okay, Emily. He'll be here soon." Sam was struck by how fragile she was in his arms, like she weighed less than a bird, less than a scrap of paper, but when she'd been fighting for her life in the middle of a nightmare she'd been so hard to handle. She sobbed hard against his shirt, no amount of soothing slowing it down.

Sam lost track of how long he held her there in the dark, crooning nonsense phrases against her hair and failing to relax her. At this rate, she was going to make herself sick by the way her belly strained with the nonstop sobbing.

"He-didn't-come-he-didn't-come."

"Dean will be here soon, sweetie. I promise."

"Grandpa John-said-he-would-come-doesn't-love-me-anymore-let-monster-get-me."

She broke each word apart with sharp gasps of air between talking and crying and all Sam could do was stroke her back and try to comfort her.

"It was just a dream, Emily. It's okay. Please don't cry."

Bobby was back. He'd shoved an old rocking chair into the room and was setting up a new lamp beside it to give them some light. After Sam had folded them both into the chair, Bobby set to work with the first aid kit, pulling pieces of glass from Emily's hands and knees with tweezers. Her crying never changed, just stayed that steady, heartbreaking rhythm broken only by requests for her Daddy and nearly incoherent ramblings about why her new hero grandfather hadn't fought off the monster in her head tonight.

"Wonder what brought this on? She was doing so good the last few days." Bobby had applied the bandages Emily needed and shifted to Sam, treating his injured hand and cheek with as much care as he had the traumatized four-year-old shaking in Sam's lap.

"You need to call Dean." Sam whispered it, holding one large hand over Emily's ear to keep the sound of her father's name from setting her off again.

Bobby was swabbing the last of the blood off of Sam's skin then catching a stray trail of red he'd missed smeared down Emily's leg. "Okay, I'll go do that now." He simply got to his feet and left, not commenting on the exploding light fixtures or how he'd had to pry their hands apart. Bobby knew this was too big for right now and would keep for later and Sam was thankful for the man's ability to keep quiet when quiet was what was needed.

After Bobby disappeared into the hallway to call Dean, Sam just kept rocking Emily back and forth, trying to comfort her, trying to make her believe everything was going to be okay in the morning. But it was going to be the same in the morning. Her mother was still going to be dead. A monster was still going to be buried in her memory, burning her flesh over and over again. There was nothing that could undo that, nothing that could box that up and ship it away.

Emily let out a sob so thick it was nearly a groan against his chest and he tried to snuggle her up higher so he could kiss her forehead and apologize for having to send some psychic jolt into her to wake her up.

"Shhh, sweetheart. Try to breathe slower. It'll feel better if you just try to relax. Your Daddy's on the way and I'm not letting you go until he gets here."

"Why didn't Grandpa John help me?" It was a pathetic whimpered question that he didn't have an answer for at the moment.

Dean was going to be pissed. Pissed at himself for not being here. Pissed at Sam for the whole electric-shining-whammy he'd used to snap Emily out of it. But most of all, he was going to be pissed that he'd been right all along. Somebody or something was screwing around with Emily's head at night and had decided tonight was the perfect night to throw her to the wolves.

Sam couldn't worry about Dean's reaction now. Now, all he could do was keep rocking.

TBC

***


	26. Chapter 26

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 26

By: Suz Mc

###WARNING: SEXUAL SITUATION BELOW, RATED R – LANGUAGE AND NASTY TALK. VIRGIN EYES SHOULD GO NO FURTHER!###

They made it to the parking lot and found the Impala way in the back corner where he'd left it, gleaming sleek and black in the moonlight. Dean's own dark little secret was the near hard on he got sometimes when he saw her like that, all stretched out and waiting for him. Lexi seemed to share that vibe as she practically squealed and rushed over to lean against the hood, nearly stumbling over her heels.

"God, Dean, this is practically sex on wheels!" She stretched out over the hood, shirt riding up and shorts riding down enough to show off a board flat stomach. A diamond belly button piercing winked up at him.

He was standing in front of her, taking a test drive down the outside of her thigh. "I suppose if you're going to call me God Dean I should earn it."

No, Lexi wasn't worried about her disappearing girlfriends anymore and Dean sure as hell wasn't thinking about the tiny bankroll in his pocket, babysitters, or car tossing ghosts. She reached up one hand and he helped pull her upright. She was short and had to lean her face back and invite him down to kiss her and he accepted with a happy groan as Lexi opened up and tongued him inside.

Kissing girls on top of his car was a major turn on and Dean indulged it completely, licking her breathless. It was dizzy and hot as she yanked his shirt out of his pants and started running soft hands and sharp nails up and down his back. He pulled her up close, finding her ass in his hands and lifting her off the car. She didn't seem to care that they were outside in front of God and everybody and his hands on her backside just seemed to set her off into a grinding frenzy against his belt.

He didn't kiss her hard, didn't want to be hard, and just kissed her mouth full and thick. She tasted like beer and strawberry jello shots and sounded sweet and nasty whimpering down his throat. Jesus, it had been weeks, too many weeks since he'd had a woman and this one was pretty much having him right here in the parking lot.

"Car?"

One word was all he could manage and he started walking them toward the backdoor. Much as he'd sink his teeth into fucking this smoking Hooter girl on the hood of his car, the bouncer might be a buzzkill dragging him off to jail. Private indecency would be as good as public indecency.

"Yeah. Car." Lexi had both hands running wild through his hair and down his neck and she was sucking on his lip like a bottle.

Lexi's heels hit the pavement and Dean yanked open the Impala's backdoor. She rubbed her bare belly against his hard wood just to keep him going and eased across the seat. He got in behind her, giving a quick scan to the empty parking lot before locking the doors.

This girl was revved up like that GTO back at Bobby's place and had stretched out her legs then started running down her zipper. Dean was on his way over when she held up a hand to stop him.

"Sit. Stay."

Hell, he could watch a bit and he did. Lexi arched her back, stretching the Hooters label thin across her tits as she pushed those short shorts down to the floor. To his increasing happiness, she kept the heels on and did a sexy crawl over to his side and promptly straddled his lap.

Holy shit. A Hooters girl lap dance and he didn't even have to turn over the college boy money he'd earned. She stayed up on her knees, grinding little circles in the air over his zipper and gave him a chance to shove his own jeans down to the floor. Lexi didn't have much trouble entertaining herself while he stripped off his pants, doing a hot peel of her shirt to the floor.

She did a sliding split, opening up her thighs on either side of his and sank down wet and steamy on his lap, yanking his shirt off and flinging it God knows where over the front seat.

"Fuck yes. So good." Dean let his hands roam all over her body while she stroked his dick wet through the scrap of a thong she'd left between her legs. Five weeks it had been since that quickie behind George's Diner in Kentucky and that was practically handholding compared to this. God, it had been the longest dry spell he could remember and it was time to end this fucking drought.

Her nipples were in his mouth and he tongued and nibbled until Lexi's moans changed into screeching loud vows to fuck him stupid any way he wanted. Great tits were great tits whether they came from Mother Nature or MasterCard and Dean Winchester was going to lick these until this girl was a wet, sloppy mess on his backseat.

"Yes! Yes!" Lexi was rubbing hard against him and he grabbed her hips to get more friction for them both.

Nobody could see shit inside his car now because there was practically steam rising off the nasty bits they were grinding together.

"Take it baby. Get yourself off!" He grabbed her ass cheeks and stroked up and down on the string disappearing between them and it set her off crazy. Lexi pressed her mouth against his and groaned loud and long down his throat while she came.

The sweat between them turned him on even more when she collapsed against his chest, kissing and sucking his neck, whispering ohbabysogoodsogood into his skin.

He pushed up against her, rubbing his hard on up against that hot wet place he was about to fill up.

"Please fuck me, Dean. Fuck me so good."

Dean Winchester was always a listener and wasted no time grabbing that eager ass and twisting her down onto her back on the seat. Good thing his body had a fantastic memory. Right hand found the rubber he kept in his pocket instead of his wallet so it took less sex time to get at. Left hand found the waistband of his sex-damp boxers and tugged them out of the way. Deano stayed put and at attention and didn't get near the chick until he was gloved up.

Her body was slick and glistening in the moonlight as he lowered down on top of her. Stiletto heels rubbed against the back of his thighs and urged him forward. She was tiny, this red hot girl, and he wanted to be slow and easy with her.

"Fuck me hard as you want, baby." She writhed under him, teasing his head with the fabric still between them.

He got down close to her, stroking back blonde curls from her face. For a fleeting moment it wasn't her face looking up at him, but he wadded up that memory and tossed it to the back of his head behind the part that was so turned on he was about to explode.

"Shhhh…let me bring you back slow, baby." He put his mouth to her ear. "Want this to last."

"Please..."

She stretched her hands over her head and held on to the door. He didn't like that. Didn't like her hands over her head like that because it made something in the back of his chest ache when Calley's face popped back up from his memory and Dean pulled her wrists back down gently so she took to bracing against his arms.

Her legs were wrapped around him and he wasn't about to leave that sweet spot so he used one hand to break the thin band holding the thong together and pushed it out of the way. Hell, he'd buy her a new one, or ten. She was crazy hot and soft when he pushed up into her. He did it smooth and easy, just like he wanted, but drilled in balls deep and then some. The air groaned out of her lungs and a beautiful bliss rush spread over her face when she pushed back, rolling against him.

Jesus he'd missed this. Missed sex and the hot slick places that women had to make you feel so fucking good. Missed that sound women made that said you were the best they'd ever had and you could do anything you wanted at that moment and they'd just moan some more in thanks.

He got a slow beat going, sliding in and out of her, keeping his eyes open as long as he could to watch her enjoying it and panting out how much she did. Everything was starting to bleed down into his crotch and his vision was blurring which was what good sex always did to him. He got down close to her again, liking that feel of her slick belly against his. Between gasps for breath, he told her how fucking hot she was and how she was the best he'd ever had and to move faster baby and she did.

For a second, he thought the radio had magically started playing "Smoke on the Water" because the car was jealous of him getting all this ass on her backseat. It broke his rhythm and he tried to get it back but the sound got louder and louder and it was his phone and the only people who would call would be…

Lexi gave a wounded little yelp as he pulled himself out of her with as much grace as he could manage and he fumbled for the phone on the floor.

"Just call them back," she said, pleading and breathless on the seat.

"Sam? What's wrong?" Dean was trying to still the roaring in his ears from the quick switch he'd just made and the blood flow hadn't yet got back up to his upper brain.

"It's Bobby. You need to come home. Emily's safe but she's upset and you need to get home."

Dean was already tugging his shorts back on and groping around on the floor for his jeans. "What happened? Where's Sam?"

"He's got her upstairs trying to settle her down. Don't end up in a ditch, just get home."

"On the way."

Get dressed. Get on the road. It was all that was on his mind. Lexi had apparently gotten the message that their bump and grind was over and had pulled her own clothes back together.

"Look, I'm sorry but there's an emergency and I need to shag ass, uh, Lexi." Thank goodness he remembered her name because it always looked bad to call them by the wrong name.

She wasn't mad, just looked a little confused. "Sure, I hope everything's okay." Lexi zipped up her shorts and scooted over on the seat. Dean was already out the door and into the front seat. She leaned over the seat against his shoulder and it annoyed him because he just really wanted her out so he could go. "Listen, I really enjoyed everything. You were great."

"I'm sorry I had to cut things off, but I'm in a hurry."

"Don't be sorry! I'm fine, really."

"I can't take you home so just take a cab, okay?" He held up a twenty for her to grab, hoping she'd get out and go.

Lexi's lips brushed against his ear. "I know you're in a hurry, but I could get you off really quick. I feel bad you didn't get to." Her hand stroked against his neck and he shoved it away.

"No, I've got to go!" He didn't mean to be a bastard to her. She was nice and all she was doing was trying to observe one night stand quid pro quo. Lexi had jerked her hand back and was almost to the door. "Wait, I'm sorry I yelled."

Her lip trembled a little and he felt really bad because he didn't want to hurt her feelings. "It's okay. It must be important."

She opened the door, but before she could get out, Dean thought he should throw something out there. "Lexi, I enjoyed tonight, but you might want to rethink going off into the dark with strange guys. Might run into a bad one next time."

He'd redeemed himself with that one and she smiled. "Are you a bad one, Dean?"

"Trying not to be. You take care of yourself."

The door slammed and the Impala's wheels spun against the pavement and headed toward Singer Salvage.

***

When Dean burst through the front door, it was already well past midnight. The door swung back harder than he intended and toppled a stack of books across the floor. He was heading for the stairs when Bobby was suddenly in his way. Instinct made him try to shove Bobby out of his path so he could get upstairs and get to his kid, but Bobby stood solid, taking hold of his arm to stop him.

"Slow down, son." And he did. Bobby looked like warmed over hell even though he was trying to shoot for the comforting father face. "It's taken the better part of an hour for Sam to get her settled. Don't bust up in there and set her off again."

"What happened?" His legs were twitching with the need to get up those stairs.

"Lil Bit had a setback. Real bad dream, the worst yet." Bobby put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'll let Sam give you the details. He's got her up in her room trying to get her back to sleep. Just go in quiet and easy."

"Okay."

Quiet and easy. Hard to do when you knew the little human being you're responsible for had just fallen to pieces while you were out at a bar. Two at a time, he pushed himself up the stairs until he got to the doorway and saw Sam's head propped over the top of huge wooden rocker. Emily's wild tangle of curls was draped over Sam's arm and shoulder. He was holding her close to his neck, resting his cheek against her forehead. The chair moved back and forth, slowly repeating a movement designed for comfort.

Dean felt his initial panic ease just a bit at the sight of Emily secure in his oversized brother's arms. She was breathing rough unsettled breaths, but she was alive and safe with somebody who loved her. The entire room looked like a hurricane had blown through it. The bed was jerked sideways with blankets thrown everywhere. The rug was thrown over in a corner and tiny pieces of glass were sparkling across the floor in the moonlight. As he made his way around to kneel beside the rocking chair, Dean got a full view of Emily's physical state and it put a hard knot in the pit of his stomach.

She was shaking. Not a pronounced tremble, but this unsettled vibration that made her seem still and not still at the same time. There were bandaids on her knees and he could see the palms of her hands were bandaged, too. Her nightgown was damp with sweat and wet curls were stuck to her face. Sam's fingers moved to slide the wet hair off of her face so Dean could get a good look at her. Tears were leaking out from under tightly pinched eyelids and her face was covered in red blotches where she cried so hard her skin even showed the evidence. It might look like Emily was sleeping but it wasn't normal sleep. It was sleep born from hysteria that had sapped her energy down to unconsciousness.

"I'm sorry, Dean. Both times she's been alone with me have ended up with her upset. I'm sorry." Sam's voice was a soft, low whisper and he was clearly torn up by what had happened.

"Don't, Sam." Dean felt his head shaking, trying to wave off Sam's apology because he didn't need or expect one. "What happened?" He rested his hand on her hair, trying to be with her and not startle her.

"I don't know. We had a great time. I showed her how to catch fireflies in a jar. I gave her a bath and she was really, truly happy, Dean." Sam looked down at Emily's crumpled body and smiled. "Oh, nice of you to tell me about her wet streaker tendencies."

"Yeah, forgot about that."

"Anyway, she said her prayers, I told her you'd be here when she got up and she was fine. I swear she was." Emily shifted a little in Sam's arms. A sad whimper slid out of her throat and Sam gathered her a little bit closer. "I heard her screaming and she was in the middle of some nightmare, but her eyes were open and she was moving around. She thought I was the monster and tried to get to the window to get away. I just caught her in time. She's only been quiet for a few minutes."

"I shouldn't have left her tonight." _Where were you, Daddy, while I was being chased by a monster? Oh, I was dick deep in a bargirl, Emily. Sorry._

"That's not why she had the nightmare, Dean. This isn't your fault."

"Tell me the rest."

Sam drew in a deep breath and made sure his big hand was held tightly against Emily's ear. She seemed to settle a bit more with the added quiet and the comfort of that touch. "I think your instincts have been right all along. There's something getting into her dreams. I don't know if it really is Dad or something pretending to be Dad, but there's definitely something there that's been affecting her dreams and tonight it let everything back in after her."

TBC

***


	27. Chapter 27

_Thanks so much to all of you who are hanging in with my little story. You are a faithful group and so supportive. I'm truly loving writing this 'verse, but the friends I've made during this process go way beyond what I've gotten from the writing. All of your support and critique help me to get better. You rock. _

_Now, on with the story!_

_Suz_

_*********************************  
_

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 27

By: Suz Mc

"Son of a bitch!"

It came out louder than Dean expected and he snapped his mouth shut to stop anything else from coming out. He'd known it was true, but it never occurred to him that this would be the result if the nighttime visitor suddenly abandoned her. Nightmares, yes, but not this annihilation of the entirety of this fragile security Emily had assembled. Dialing down the volume, Dean zeroed in on Sam and continued. "How do you know?"

"I had to do something to shock her out of the dream, Dean. I had to. So I grabbed her right hand in mine and I could feel something else, some residual energy from something that wasn't me or Emily."

Sam and Emily's psychic bond didn't make Dean happy at all. He felt like a prick to call it jealousy. He wasn't jealous, because he sure as hell didn't want to be saddled with the burden of this thing Sammy and Emily had to deal with. Maybe he didn't want to call it jealousy, even though that's what it felt like and it sucked and it was stupid and petty, but it was there.

"She blew the light bulb didn't she?"

Sam nodded and held up one of her hands with a couple of his fingers. "She crawled through the glass before I could get to her. I'm sorry."

"Looks like you took a hit, too, Sammy." The cut on his cheek was small, but a fresh bubble of blood was hanging to the edge of it. "The light outside went, too. She do that?"

"Maybe we did that during the connection. I've never touched her hand when she was wound up like that and it just got out of control." Sam was looking at Emily, focusing anywhere but Dean. "It was all I could think of to get her out of the nightmare."

All of this was beginning to reality check him upside the head. All of his justifications, all of his canoe trips down the River Denial, had let this get so out of control that he might not be able to rein it back in. "So this presence you felt. Where was it coming from?" If Sam felt it, maybe he could pinpoint who or what it was.

"I don't know. But she's been saying over and over again that Dad promised to come make the monster go away and he didn't show. She thinks she did something and he's punishing her. I don't think Dad would intentionally hurt her, if it is him, but whatever has been messing around with her dreams is the cause of this. We need to stop this before it does more damage, whatever it is."

A hot edge started to form around that lump in his stomach. "Hm. Promising to be there and not showing up. Sure sounds like John Winchester."

"Daddy?" Emily's mouth was twisted into a tight little frown and her eyes were slits as she blinked a few times.

"Yeah, Cutie Pie. It's me." He ran his hand over her forehead and got in close to kiss her.

When he got close, Emily's nose wrinkled at the scent coming off of his shirt. He reeked of bar smoke, beer, and a strange girl's overdone perfume. He peeled the shirt over his head and threw it out into the hallway. Sam was in the process of handing her off to him when she started grabbing around Dean's neck to hold on.

"Daddydaddydaddydaddy."

She just kept saying it over and over as the crying started anew. Sam traded off his seat in the rocker so Dean could take over. Dean was so focused on the bundle of fear in his arms he didn't notice Sam leave. "Uncle Sammy said you had a bad dream. I'm so sorry."

"Where were you, Daddy?"

_Well, I was banging a stranger who looked a little like yoru mom, kid, and that was a bit awkward, but I got over it. Good thing Uncle Sammy doesn't chase tail like I do so you had him here to keep you from jumping out a window. Aren't you lucky , Emily? _

"I'm sorry I was gone, Cutie Pie. But I'm here now." The more he rocked, the more she seemed to relax against his chest. Her hand was on its customary resting place against his scar like it was some kind of portal away from her pain. "Emily, sometimes talking about a bad dream can make it better. Can you tell me about it?" Dean wanted to get her talking and get some kind of clue he could follow to the source of her breakdown. There was something in her head and he was getting the son of a bitch out.

"Monster came in my room. Grandpa John locks her away and we play, but he didn't come. The monster got everybody." She was crying again, wet and shaky against his neck and he put a hand on her back to hold her tight.

"It's not real, Emily. I swear it's just a dream."

"Monster burned up everybody. Mama and you and Uncle Sammy and Uncle Bobby and me over and over and it hurt so bad." The words were whispered between sobs and she held on tighter. "Grandpa doesn't love me anymore. Thinks I'm bad."

"No, Cutie Pie. Your Grandpa John loves you and so do I. Why would you think that?" Dumb question. She'd think that because he booked it out of her dreams and left her hanging.

"I did something bad and he knows." The tremble was back now.

"What did you do, sweetie? Break the light bulb? Don't worry about that."

"I burned that mean man who yelled at Uncle Bobby and now Grandpa is going to let the monster get me cuz I'm bad. I'm sorry sorry sorry."

Being clueless was the one feeling Dean Winchester hated most in the world and he was at a loss to figure out what the hell she was talking about. He'd seen the asshole who'd bitched about his towing fee hightail it out of the lot the other day like he was…on fire.

_Good God._

Dean clutched her closer and fought the pain that threatened to leak out from under his eyelids.

It took a couple of seconds of deep swallowing to get his shit together, then he pulled Emily's swollen red face back so she could look into his eyes. "We're going to deal with all of that later, Emily. Right now, I want you to listen to your Daddy. You trust me, right? You know I love you more than anything, right?"

She was hanging on to his every word and looking to him for help out of this pain. Her head bobbed up and down to say yes to his questions.

"You are not bad. None of that stuff you can do would ever make me or Uncle Sammy or any of us not love you. Okay?"

Dark, red-rimmed eyes stayed glued to his.

"We'll figure this out. I swear I'll help you deal with this, but you don't ever in your life have to worry that your family doesn't love you, that I'm going to stop loving you. I'm here and I'm staying here. I don't know what happened tonight, but I'll fix it. I swear I will."

Emily's head wobbled a bit as if it were just too heavy to balance on her neck another second. She laid it back against his shoulder and slowly her heart rate dropped down closer to normal. Not quite at rest, but more normal than before, less than a panic attack but not the soft beat it should be while she slept.

***

He subconsciously knew that she'd come looking for him up at the scene of the crime. John pulled his jacket more tightly around his chest and didn't turn when he heard her footsteps. The space beside him on the ground was suddenly filled with her body, warm against him.

"You've been up here a while, Love." Mary looked down into Bobby's house, not even pretending to avoid what was going on down there. "I remember holding him like that. Must have logged forty thousand rocking hours with his little head right on my shoulder."

"Yeah, I remember."

"Things went wrong, didn't they?" Her hand slid up to stroke his shoulder and she leaned gently against his jacket. She wasn't fooling anybody. She already fucking well knew things had gone wrong. Mary Winchester was tapped into the cosmic wave up here and she knew it all, all the time, and it was annoying on an epic scale.

"Can you just dispense with the part where you pretend you don't already know?"

Evidently, his wife decided to do just that. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

"I'm guessing upper management decided I was eyeing advancement and elected to ram my ass into the glass ceiling." His chest was still throbbing from the jolt of repeatedly trying to break through to Emily's dream, or scratch that, nightmare.

Mary's hand was cool on the back of his neck, easing away some of the tension. The regret he felt waved through his body hot and lumbering and he needed to feel her soothing forgiveness. Those sharp, shrill screams from Emily's room were still vibrating in his ears and he closed his eyes tight to shut out the vision of her trembling in Sam's arms.

Now, Emily was shivering in Dean's arms. The look on his son's face was a tight mix of compassion for Emily's pain, sadness, and complete fury. He was no dummy. He'd figured it out and if Dean could find a way, he was going to hold his dad accountable.

"You okay?"

"I made it worse."

He should pull away from her comfort. God knows he didn't deserve the comfort after the havoc he'd wreaked on Emily's fragile psyche. But, he didn't. Mary's touch was hard to resist. She sat beside him, head resting on his shoulder, holding him up. Damn.

"Your heart was in the right place, Love." She stroked his cheek with her hand, trying to ease the regret that was eating him up inside. "All you wanted was to spare her. That's what grandparents do."

"Go ahead and say it."

"Okay, I told you so."

He hadn't expected that one. He'd expected an after the fact justification of what he'd done so he could feel better.

"Thanks for not gloating, Honey."

"I'm sorry. Did you require me to pet you a bit longer?" Mary made a very dramatic gesture of stroking his hair and kissing his cheek, sarcasm in every movement.

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"Look, John, one thing you have a hard time doing is LISTENING!" She'd let go of his shoulders and was sitting rocked backward on her hands. "There are reasons for the timetable up here. Reasons for the things we can and can't do until we've been here a while."

"Oh, God, here we go with the lecturing again." John climbed to his feet and started the long walk back to their house. He'd screwed up. He knew it and he didn't need her parental spanking to point it out.

Mary was hot on his tail, matching him stride for stride. "Apparently, you do, John. Do you see what you've done with these good intentions of yours? Screw the advice of every other fuckin' body. It's John's way or the highway."

"Yes, Mary, I know what I've done. I've destroyed another little kid just like I destroyed yours. Is that what you want me to say?!" He stopped so short that Mary crashed into his chest and had to shove herself back with both hands.

"No, what I want is for you to realize you aren't part of that world anymore, not their world, you're done." Her face was blushing red with the anger and frustration boiling out at him.

"I'm sick of this arbitrary bullshit! It was fine for me to keep Emily from that bitch who was going to lock her up for ten fuckin' years and sacrifice her later, but not for me to let her sleep at night? Why is it so wrong for me to love this kid? Explain that to me, oh Goddess of the Fucking Cosmos?"

"You loving your children, or grandchild, has never been the issue, asshole, it's how you go about it! And you know why you had to haul ass down there and save her from those bastards. It had to be done. She had to survive that night and there was no way Dean or Sam could get to her in time. You know that and you know why she's needed, so stop acting like you're the one getting screwed here!"

Getting up in his face had never been a problem for Mary. When he'd met her she was like that, soft and sweet then popping off in his face with a mouth like a sailor. On occasion, it pissed him off and turned him on like crazy. At the moment, he was leaning more toward pissed.

"Mary--" There wasn't a comeback, bad as he wanted one. He wanted to tell her that she'd started all this shit. That she'd left them all in a blaze of glory without a fucking clue and he'd spent the rest of his life trying to figure the shit out she could have explained in one damn day.

She wasn't letting up an inch. "Don't you think I long to be part of their lives? Don't you think I want to hold those boys and advise them and love them? Don't you think I want to get down into that bedroom right this very second and take that little girl in my arms and give her everything? John, you haven't cornered the market on longing up here, you just decided that you can smash the down there and the hereafter together and make it work. Newsflash! It didn't."

"What do you want me to do, Mary? I'm sure you have ideas, because I'm obviously too fucking stupid to make decisions."

Her eyes closed tightly and she brought her hands together in prayer. "Praise be, we have a breakthrough."

"You can be a real bitch sometimes, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one."

He didn't expect her to do what she did next. He expected more battle. Mary could fight like a down and dirty infantry grunt. John sometimes wondered what their lives would have been like if they had hunted together. Instead of continuing to bust his balls, Mary slipped her hands inside his jacket and embraced him. It was an irresistible weapon that totally unhinged his defenses, leaving him with a lump stuffing his throat as he let himself hold her in return.

"I am sorry, Mary, for so many things." Damn, the front of his shirt was wet where Mary was crying against it.

"I know you are, John." She squeezed a little harder. "Loving too hard is something I can understand. I have enough regret to sink a battle ship, but we've got to accept it and let them go."

"That sucks ass, my darlin'." He had to blow her hair out of his face so he could kiss her forehead.

"Dean's a good man. He'll be a good father."

"I know that. I just wanted to help him after I kinda left him holding a huge bag of shit upon my exit."

Mary pulled away from him and smiled up at him with her cheeks wet and the end of her nose bright red. "You've got to clean this up and let it go."

"How am supposed to do that now?"

"I don't have a clue, but I await your solution with great anticipation."

"I'm going back up. Maybe I can figure out how to get back in one more time." He kissed her, thumbing away a tear drop still on her cheek. "I love you."

"And I love you, too, John. You go." Mary released him, but before he started walking, she said, "Where's Calley?"

Calley. He'd just let her wander away in an exhausted stumble when she ran out of air and energy for anymore screaming. There hadn't been anything to say to ease her pain. The two of them were complicit in this emotional disaster, both skipping down that road of good intentions hand and hand into hell. Calley deserved the right to face her heartache in private.

"She left. I don't know where she went."

"I'll find her. You go see what damage control you can do." She didn't wait for him to leave first, like she normally did, just turned and left him to it.

It was colder than he remembered, when he took his seat overlooking Emily's bedroom. Dean was still there rocking Emily as she dozed fitfully against his chest. His eyes were closed, but John knew his son and he wasn't sleeping. Dean was dreaming up a variety of ways to kick his father's ass.

John gently tested the waters again, trying to ease into Emily's mind, only to be slapped by the icy barrier once again.

He rubbed his temples and kept on watching.

TBC

_Pretty please help a girl out and leave me some feedback so my pathetic whining won't fill up Zat's mailbox. She'll appreciate it!_


	28. Chapter 28

_**I don't know how to thank all the people who are hanging in with this story. For some reason, I have trouble writing short things. :-) I know you have to really enjoy a WIP that is a friggin' epic to stick with it and I so love that y'all are. _**Zat, Kady, NongPradu, Radekris, icwdiva777, masondixon, 494dwangel, tresta, K-Marie-M, angelthefish, Alleyrien, labrat68, patdfan2012, watchoutforice, leahrah, dnachemlia, ginNgeuse, windscryer, fidalgo, a rose by any other name71591, Jazzcia, Alienmom, Dianne, Antonella, FLD, cab60, it's too early, 1983sarah -- **Out of almost 3,000 visits to this story since it started (and I know those aren't 3,000 separate people and not all of the visits constituted readers) you are the guys who took and continue to take the time to review. Time is short and people are working hard so I understand the gift of your taking time to review. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You all rock!

Suz***

**Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 28**

**By: Suz Mc**

He tried to ignore the glow warming up his closed eyelids, but it got stronger minute by minute until Dean had to open his eyes. It felt like an emotional hangover stabbing his brain and he closed them back immediately. Emily was still resting in his arms as they sat in the same position in the old rocking chair that they'd occupied since midnight. He couldn't call what she was doing actual sleep, it was just a break in between the tearful shivering she'd done all night. Emily wasn't willing to let herself fall so deeply out of consciousness as to let herself dream again. Her little eyes would close, but it wouldn't last for long. They'd pop open and those dark eyes would dart around wild and scared until she realized she was still here in his arms and then she'd settle again for a while.

His back was stiff and he desperately wanted to stretch out his old shoulder injury, but he'd wait a while longer for Emily to rouse up on her own. Dean let his head fall back against the chair and he was almost asleep when the smell of Bobby's coffee pulled him back. He felt as much as heard the man make his way into the room and creak down onto the corner of the bed beside them.

"Hey. What time is it?" Dean forced his eyes open once again and smiled at the coffee. "I'll change Emily's name to Bobby if you'll give me that."

Bobby eased the cup into his hand. "'Bout six and there's no need to be renamin' the first born to get my Folgers."

Dean pushed his foot against the floor to rock some more and Emily seemed to settle a little more deeply against his chest. Her cheek was hot against his skin, like she'd cried herself into a fever. Dean took a slow drink, careful not to spill it on her. The coffee was extra good as it slid down his throat to rub against his exhaustion.

"Sam filled me in on what you're thinking about Lil Bit's dreaming issues. You think something's been tampering with her at night?" Bobby kept his voice to a hushed whisper.

"I do."

"If something was trying to terrorize her, why wouldn't they just jump on it the first night?"

"I don't give a rat's ass what his intentions are, Bobby. Something's messing with her and it stops today." One more gulp of caffeine, but his eyes still felt like he'd rolled them around in rock salt. Coffee couldn't fix that.

"You still thinkin' it's John?"

"Yes."

Bobby slipped his hat off of his head and rubbed his beard nervously. "Boy, I think what happened to Emily last night happened because of me and I'm truly sorry."

Emily wriggled in his arms as he sat up a little straighter. "What the hell are you saying, Bobby? Do you know something about this?"

One of Bobby's hands was up in the air to settle Dean back down. "Hear me out and maybe it'll set you on the right track. When Sam told me about the way that spirit was entering Camden's dreams, I got hold of a friend of mine in New Mexico who makes dreamcatchers. Now, these ain't those flea market trinkets. They're blessed by a shaman and designed to keep anything from another plane of existence from punching a hole into your dreams to harm you. It came in the mail yesterday."

"That box. I remember."

"Since poor Camden had passed, I just tossed the box on my desk and forgot about until Sam told me what your theory is about Emily's dreams."

"That thing stopped him from getting into Emily's dreams?"

"I would sooner lop off my ear than cause that child any harm, Dean. I feel just terrible about it." He had his hat down in his hand now, a truly genteel gesture to show how humble he was in his apology.

That's what John Winchester did, made everyone feel sorry for the huge pathways of shit he constructed for everyone to walk on. "Bobby, don't. Dad found a way to bust out of Heaven to save her and his hero complex just wouldn't let up and now look what he's done to her?"

"You don't even know if it's really him, Dean."

"I wasn't sure until you told me about the dreamcatcher. Now I am. It's him. I know it." It had all the fucked up elements of a John Winchester plan. The parenting expert just had to jam his way into Emily's life and screw it up. "With the shit he's told her, it's pretty clear he wanted me to know what he was doing."

"And just exactly what was that, son? Easing her mind so she could have nice dreams with her Grandpa instead of nightmares?"

"Yeah, until it blew up just like his forays into parenting always did because he's a control freak and then he leaves you with nothing." Defenseless. That how John Winchester had left Emily. At least his record was consistent.

"Your daddy did a lot of dumb things, but I can't imagine he wanted to hurt her, son."

"No, he never set out to hurt any kid, but he did and that stops here. She's mine, Bobby. My little girl and I'll be damned if John Winchester is going to damage her the way he did me and Sam!" He'd stopped rocking and Emily's body didn't seem to like it. Her legs stretched out stiff and her face twisted slightly until he started the chair to moving again.

"How can I help? You want to bring the dreamcatcher up here and keep it close to her so he can't get back in?"

Dean took a long look down into Emily's puffy, wounded face. It was hard to know what to do, which path to take with such a fragile little thing depending on him. The love and the worry were weighed even on the scales in his heart when it came to making this decision. He knew what the easy path would be, but it wasn't the right one, the one that would help heal Emily.

"I want you to burn it and I want the rest of the dreamroot you've got stashed in that red hex box in the hallway."

"What?"

"Don't play dumb, Bobby. You haven't thrown anything away since 1965 and you sure as hell wouldn't flush something that powerful. I want it."

"Let me get this straight. You're worried that your dead daddy might be pokin' a hole from up above and having play dates with your daughter so you're going to get cracked up on dreamroot and join him in her head?"

"Yep."

"Bad idea. The two of you having a pissing contest in Emily's dream is not going to head her toward emotional stability, Dean. Think about this."

"You know as well as I do that if this is Dad, the second he's able to get back into Emily's head, that's where he's going because nobody tells John Winchester no. Not ever, until now. I'm going to make him fix this so she has the power back to fight this herself, her own way, and not under his my way or the highway bullshit."

"Dean."

"Her life is her own and—"

"Okay." Bobby got up from his place on the bed. "I'll have it ready for you to use tonight."

Bobby's surrender signaled his exit and Dean was glad to be alone with Emily again. Nobody fought for him and Sam when they were losing their childhood and free will, but he was going to fight for Emily. She deserved that much.

Time went by as they rocked and the sun was brighter and hotter when Emily finally pulled herself awake in his arms. Her big brown eyes were puffy and red when she opened them. Emily might be awake, but she was still silent when she sat up in his lap and rested her cheek against his chest. Her little hand reached up to grab around his neck like he was going to disappear if she didn't hang on.

"Good morning, Cutie Pie."

She kept silent and it scared him.

"Why don't you go brush your teeth and get dressed, then we'll go to town and get donuts. Big messy jelly ones." When he tried to put her down on the floor, she grabbed him tight and hung on, still quiet, but with a frantic grip. He didn't force her to let go, just patted her back. "Want me to go with you? I'll sit right there while you brush and I won't leave."

That reassurance convinced her to move and she got down to the floor, moving toward the bathroom with her hand holding his fingers in a vise grip.

*****

It was the first time Sam had seen Dean all day without his daughter glued to his side. Dean was leaning back on the Impala's trunk, sipping on a beer, staring blankly out at the sunset. Sam had warred with himself all day after what had happened last night with Emily. There were a couple of excuses he could muster up in his mind to keep quiet about what he'd seen Emily do with the fire. He'd sworn his silence to Emily for one thing. For another, Dean was consumed with Emily's nightmare and his quest to find out the who and why behind it. Did he have the right to add more to that load?

"Hey." Sam took a seat beside his brother, noticing for the first time how exhausted Dean was at this point. "Where's Emily?"

"She's with Bobby making a sandwich. First time she's let go of me all day." Dean drew in another long drink from his bottle.

"Good sign, maybe?"

Dean grunted and shook his head. "She hasn't said a single word all day. It's like she's right back to square one, like back at the Roadhouse." He folded his arms together and sucked in a deep weary breath. "There was this little flea market in town and I bought her one of those wand things with the streamers, you know, like that one I gave you for Christmas that time. Remember?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Even got some kid to paint a smiley face on her cheek, but she never smiled, never said a word." Another long drink and his bottle was empty. "She's exhausted, Sam. I thought riding in the car would put her out so she could rest like it always does, but she never went down. When I got her out of the car, there were these little bruises all on the inside of her arm." Dean held out his arm and pinched a small bite of skin between his fingers. "She pinched her arm so she wouldn't fall asleep. She's four and she's so petrified of that dream that she's willing to hurt herself to keep it from happening again."

There was a pain on his brother's face that was so great he had to bite down on his bottom lip to contain it. "Dean, she'll sleep. She's going to be okay." Okay. It was such a lazy thing to say. Okay. It didn't mean shit in their world.

"Yeah, she'll sleep, but she's going to fight it like crazy, Sam. I remember how that feels. To be so scared of letting go into dreams that turn into nightmares that I'd do anything to keep from being vulnerable like that. Anything." Dean looked down into his beer long and hard, then tossed it into the garbage can with a rattling thump. "She's just a little girl. How's she supposed to handle this and come out whole?"

"One day at a—"

Dean's look cut him off. "You gotta be kidding me, right?"

"Look, I'm as lost as you are with this, dude. You just don't need to expect it to be perfect so soon after all that's happened to her."

Dean did what he always did when he was pissed. He started pacing a trench in the gravel driveway.

"I'm not stupid. I know she's got shit to wade through, but she was getting stronger until Grandpa Freddy Kruger showed up!" Now Dean's doubt and despair was shifting into ass-kicking fury. Seeing how the Dean of his childhood, who described John Winchester as a "superhero", had warped into the adult Dean who was angry and bitter about their father was sad in a way.

"Are you sure this is really Dad?"

"I am." Dean kept pacing.

"Dean, you know how I feel about Dad's fucked up Marine I'm in charge crap, but if this is him I'm sure he thinks he's protecting her. I mean, going to the beach? Dad putting on swimming trunks? Blowing bubbles? That's got to be love."

"And that's the argument he used for every fucking thing he did to screw up our lives, Sam. Every time. And he's not doing this to my kid. I'm getting him the hell out of her head so he knows he can't come and go as he pleases."

Dean was too keyed up, too pissed to be inside his own head, much less a little girl's. "I'm not defending him meddling in Emily's dreams, but I want you to remember everything we learned about dreams during our last dream weaver attempt with Jeremy Frost. Dreams help you try to deal with your life, to work out things, even the bad dreams do that."

"Exactly why he needs to get the fuck out of her head. He's undone all the progress she made, every inch of it, and he's going to know that and let her alone." Dean wasn't calming down, just gearing up for a fight.

Sam had to firm up his argument a bit to get through to his brother. "You need to remember that this battle is going to be inside a little girl's head, Emily's head."

"Don't you think I know that?!"

"Okay, but even if you aren't directly interacting with her, everything you do in there is going to be imprinted on her somehow and you don't know the aftereffects so you need to keep yourself calm and under control, no matter what your daddy issues are."

Dean's look was pure poison. "This isn't about me, Sam, and stop quoting bullshit pop psychology at me."

"Exactly. It's not about you. It's about a fragile little kid who's got enough to deal with without the dad she loves and the grandfather she loves going at it. It's going to scare her even more."

That nailed Dean's feet to the ground and he stopped pacing. "All I can say is that she's thinking she did something bad and the almighty John Winchester dumped her. He's going to fix that before he takes the redeye out of her mind."

Something bad. There it was again. Sam knew what she was thinking. Emily thought her grandfather knew about her fire throwing fury. For a few seconds, Sam unconsciously focused on Dean's face while he struggled with his loyalty to a little girl balanced against what he knew was right.

"You've got that look, Sam. What else?"

It startled him when he realized Dean had been staring him right in the eyes, like he had been reading some kind of news crawl running across his face that said, "I'm keeping shit from you again, dude. Ask me."

"I've got something to tell you and you're not going to like it." It was out there now. No going back.

Dean appraised him carefully, uncomfortably, then sat down beside him on the back of the car. "Why is it that I hate your stories that start off with that sentence?"

Fast and clear. That was the way to go. "The other day, Emily used her abilities to hurt someone. That guy who was pissed at Bobby over his truck. She thought he was going to hurt Bobby and made a flame burn the guy's hand so he'd leave."

"How do you know?"

"I saw her do it. I tried to stop her, but I didn't get to her in time. I should have told you and I'm sorry."

Sam steeled himself for the explosion. He had it coming. This wasn't like the last time when Sam had slipped the paternity test past Dean against his wishes. That needed to be done. Sam had caved to his own issues and the panic of a little girl when he shouldn't have and he was going to take his medicine.

But the fury of Dean Winchester didn't materialize.

"I already know."

That was as unexpected as the serene posture his brother was holding after hearing Sam had lied to him once again. "You already know?"

"Yeah, Emily told me last night." When he looked Sam in the eye, his look was intense, but not murderous like he'd expected. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"She begged me not to and swore she wouldn't use it again." That got a reaction from Dean, only it wasn't anger. It was a deep wounded flinch, like that hurt far worse than Sam keeping secrets. "Dean, you're all she's got and she was terrified that you wouldn't love her if you thought she'd done something bad."

"Did you tell her that she didn't have to worry about that, ever?"

"Of course I did, but she was freaked out and crying and I just—"

"You just remembered how I treated you and you gave in. I understand that." Dean's voice was as heavy with hurt and regret as he'd ever heard it.

"She promised she wouldn't use it again and last night when she was tempted to grab the fireflies with her power, she didn't, Dean. She fought it. She understood that it was dangerous, like a gun. I think she can fight this. I know she can." It sounded like a sales pitch and a weak one at that.

Dean nodded and fell silent. They sat there for a while, the quiet settling around them. When Dean spoke, it was calm and measured.

"Sammy, I want you to know that I don't think I could pull off this father thing without you in my corner. I mean, you didn't have to throw in with this deal, but you did and us being a family for Emily is, well, it's awesome."

This wasn't at all what Sam had expected and he thought for a second about yanking at Dean's ear to be sure he wasn't a shapeshifter or some b-movie pod person.

"Uh, you don't have to thank me, Dean."

"Yeah, I do. You know stuff, Sam. Stuff about what's up with Emily that I can't wrap my brain around and I'm grateful that you're there for her. She's going to need you in her life."

"You know I'll do anything I can for that little girl."

"Know that, too." That's when Dean's mood shifted. He got to his feet and put himself inches away from Sam's face. Dean never raised his voice, which only made it more intimidating. "But we need to get one thing straight, here and now, Sammy. I'm her father. Me. You don't have the option to edit what I know about her. Every second of her life is my business. You're her uncle. I'm her dad. I understand the baggage between us that made you cave to her this time, but don't do it again or I'll kick your ass." Dean stepped back, dark smudges under his eyes turning just a touch darker. "We clear?"

"Crystal."

Dean shook off the mafia hitman persona as quickly as shrugging off a coat. "Now, I've got to move on to the next item on the to do list. You coming?"

You coming. Dean had said it and started moving back toward the house, full well expecting Sam to follow. He wasn't going to hold a grudge or keep it going. Dean had spoken his piece and it was done.

Sam fell in step and followed.

TBC

***

_Please take a second to leave a comment or critique (and yes, I MEAN IT!). I live to know what you feel about what you've just read._


	29. Chapter 29

_**Hey sweet readers! Thanks for tuning in for another episode, uh, chapter. :-) This one is smaller than usual, but I promise it carries a punch. Been super busy this week so this was as far as I could get. Thank you so much for following the story. Your support keeps me going! Love ya, Suz ***_

**Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 29**

**By: Suz Mc**

Bath time wasn't the wild babbling party it had been before last night's meltdown. He'd started to look forward to the way Emily would giggle and build things with the bubbles. The way her mind wandered from one thought to the next, free and open to whatever popped into her head, was hilarious to hear. She had thoughts and ideas that were just as valid and interesting as any of the tight ass adults around her and it was fascinating to listen. Emily would sing and laugh and mixed in between that music, she would tell him things about her life in Austin, about her mother. Here in this tiny bathroom in Bobby Singer's house, Emily felt free to share her old life with her new daddy and not be censored by sadness.

There wasn't any talking tonight. No talking all day, in fact. Just fearful clinging and looks from red rimmed eyes that needed to close, but wouldn't dare. Emily sat perfectly still with a bubble bath wall up to her chest. She didn't fuss to "Do it my ownself, Daddy!", just let him wash her hair and clean her up like she was barely there at all.

When the last shampoo was out of her hair, Dean lifted her out of the water and stood her on the bathmat.

"There you go, Cutie Pie. Let's get you dried off and ready for bed."

The little girl's mouth turned down slightly and she shook her head from side to side. It was the first attempt she'd made at conversation all day.

"It'll be okay, I promise."

Emily shivered a little and he wrapped the towel around her to rub her dry. Standing there, hair dripping wet, skin pale and damp, she looked as fragile as she'd ever looked. That's what fear did to you. It made you thin and brittle, vulnerable to any storm that rolled over you. At that moment, Dean Winchester realized the extremes of being Emily's father. Nothing had ever brought him so high, made him so full, as loving this little girl. The thrill of it was so much more than anything he'd ever felt. More than the best hunt. More than the best sex. More than any other good thing. But the low of it, almost made his insides crack. Those few moments weeks ago when he'd thought she was burned alive had left a bruise inside his chest that was never going to completely heal. Right now, he could feel that sting again. Seeing the little thing that he loved more than his own life scared and broken without a clue as to how to fix her was true agony.

As pissed as he was at John Winchester for his part in it, there was a sympathetic pang in his chest for the man who Dean had watched sit silently over his son's body and make the decision to sacrifice himself, to walk away from life so his kid could live. Some pretty hellish consequences came from that decision, but Dean understood it. He understood it standing in front of this silent little girl with big brown heartbreak eyes.

Dean finished drying her off quickly and snagged Emily's nightgown from the back of the bathroom door. It was a routine dance now for her to hold up her hands so he could pull it down over her head, usually after he'd chased her around the room with her giggling and squealing, "I'm nekkid!" None of that tonight. Emily just stepped into her tiny underpants and put on the nightgown with no sound or play.

Bobby had left the rocking chair in after putting the wreckage of Emily's room back together, so Dean picked her up and headed there. "Let's just sit for a while, Cutie Pie."

He settled her in his lap, only to have her do one of those slippery kid moves of limp bones that let her slink out of his arms like she was coated in grease. When her feet hit the floor, Emily bounced away, grabbing her iPod and setting it to one of those annoying dance tunes with too much bass and a squealing teenager that grated on Dean's nerves like crazy. Emily didn't really dance to it like she normally would, just swayed around in a drunken circle looking like someone who'd been at the club way too long and sucked up one too many beers. He let her go for a while, hoping it would wear her down enough to get her into his lap again.

After song number three, Dean decided to make a move. "Okay, dancin' queen, time for bed." He reached toward her and almost had one hand under her arm when Emily slapped hard to shove his hand away.

"NO!"

She stomped backward a couple of steps, setting up a perimeter with a hard glare up at him that he'd never seen in her eyes before. But she'd spoken and that was a step in the right direction, even if it was defiant.

"No?"

"That's what I said! NO! Not goin' to bed." This time she pounded her bare foot on the floor as if that would scare him off. If she wasn't so terrified in the middle of all that pissed off bravado, it would be funny as hell.

"Sweetheart," he kept his voice easy and quiet in contrast to her building anger, and crouched down in front of her, "I know you're scared, but you have to go to sleep. I'm here and it's going to be—"

"I WON'T AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!" She was against the wall now, still keyed up for battle and not showing even a corner of a white flag.

No, he couldn't make her. He could snatch her up and hold her kicking and screaming until she possibly passed out from the effort, but he just didn't have it in him to do that to her.

"Trust me, Emily. If you do what I say now, I swear it'll be all right."

Dean held out one hand to her and it stayed empty. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for some way out of this trap. When her eyes settled on the window, Dean leaned over to put more weight on the foot he could use to propel himself in front of her if she bolted in that direction. It was locked now, after her nightmare escape attempt of last night, but the thought of it spread cold through his stomach. Being cornered made you pick crazy choices and Dean watched as Emily clicked off every option to get out of going to sleep.

Something seemed to break across her face, something less resistant and more surrender. Her lip trembled pink and wet and her teeth closed over it to hold it still. A couple of tears dripped from the corners of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

"I want a drink of water." More tears ran down her face and Dean was relieved when she let him hold her cheeks and wipe them clean. That invisible bruise in his chest started to pulsate.

"If I get you some water, will you lay down and sleep?"

She nodded in his hand and took in a rattling breath.

"Okay." Dean got up and headed toward the bathroom.

"Not bathroom water!" She sounded almost irritated, like he was some idiot who was going to scoop it out of the toilet.

"Kid, it's the same water whether it comes from the kitchen faucet or the bathroom faucet."

The hardness came back and she was pissed again. "Kitchen water has ice in it!"

Dean had to close his eyes and take in a deep, cleansing breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. She might be tiny, but she was all girl and she was going to give him hell just like all girls did with this moody, mind stabbing crap that made no sense at all.

"Okay, I'll go down to the kitchen, but when I get back, it's lights out. Deal?"

Emily climbed up on the bed in response, folding her legs Indian style to wait.

His feet were heavy as he made it down the stairs. Four hours or less sleep the night before and all the stress of today had started to wear him down. Get the water. Haul his ass back upstairs. Get Emily to sleep. Take African dream-fucking-potion. Kick John Winchester out of Emily's head and onto his ass. That was the to do list running through his mind in some autopilot loop that kept him moving.

Praise Bobby Singer for having a friggin' ice maker. Dean grabbed a cup, clinked ice into it, then filled it with water. The front door slammed and Dean realized he'd been so out of it that the water had overflowed onto his hands. He took time to pour about half of it into the sink so it wouldn't take Emily so long to empty and grinned at his own outsmart of Emily's stalling tactic.

"So who's going to mow that lawn?" Bobby's voice was just a little too loud and Dean was about to tell him to hush so Emily wouldn't take that as an excuse to run downstairs.

"Dean has fantasies about lawn mowing. It's sick." Sam made his way into the kitchen and flopped down into a chair. "Is she asleep?"

"Not yet." Dean dried his hand and turned to go upstairs. "Where have you two been?"

"In Bobby's office. I found a photo of the Campbell place."

"But who just came inside?" Dean sat the cup down on the table, an electric warning buzzer flipping on in the back of his skull.

"Nobody." Bobby leaned cautiously backward to look into the empty living room.

"Shit!"

Dean made it to the window in two strides. The yard was dark, except for the moonlight. Emily's nightmare tantrum had fixed that by destroying the outdoor light that hung over Bobby's backyard. If not for the movement of her light pink Sleeping Beauty nightgown, he'd have missed her little body making the turn from Bobby's yard out onto the gravel drive that led to the highway. Emily disappeared around corner, moving like a terrified rabbit, light enough to defy gravity and the sound barrier.

He was in the yard and chasing her before Sam or Bobby could speak. Adrenaline shot through his veins, killing the exhaustion and making him move faster than he thought possible. Her head start was too great, her fear making Emily too focused to respond as he bellowed her name in the dark, commanding her to obey, to stop, to come back.

Emily rounded another curve and he lost sight of her for a second. There were three motion lights around that curve that would lead to the two-lane asphalt, all part of Bobby's warning system. He'd be able to see her better then.

The sound of glass shattering strangled the power of that positive thinking.

In a hail of sparks and shimmering glass crystals, Emily's hand was in the air destroying the light that made her escape more difficult. She wasn't afraid of the dark now. The dark would let her hide from the person trying to force her to give over to pain and nightmares. She was willing to do this, to use this dangerous thing inside her to hide from him. Daddy wasn't a savior, now he was the enemy, just like the monster.

There were about a hundred yards left between Emily and the highway. Even doubling his stride, which he was somehow doing at the moment, it wasn't likely he'd catch up to her before her feet hit the pavement.

"Emily! Stop!"

It was quiet, save for the pounding of feet and heaving panting breaths huffing out of both of them. Dean could see the highway now. Half a football field still lay between him and his daughter when he heard the roar of a truck break the cool air around them. Bright white lights set to high beam exploded over a hill and accelerated downward.

It all ran together like some over thought equation from an algebra class he failed a thousand years ago. If a forty pound girl is running at a hundred miles an hour in a right angle toward a Ford F-150 traveling at seventy miles per hour with an old worn out loser father chasing her from ten light years behind her, which variables will collide first?

"STOP!"

He was yelling it at Emily, at the truck, at time, at space, at anything that would change the geometry and physics of what was about to happen.

Forty yards to Emily. Ten yards between Emily and the highway.

Dean could hear Sam behind him. Even with those freakishly long legs, Sam couldn't change math or physics. There was a roar coming up fast from the salvage yard. Bobby's four-wheeler. It was even too late for that.

The lights turned, heading toward the point where variable A Emily would intersect with B truck.

There were too many parts of his body working at once to isolate them. Legs stretching out to cover more ground. Brain reasoning any way to derail what was happening right in front of his eyes. Throat hoarse with the sound of his own voice begging Emily to come back.

Emily stopped abruptly with one foot on the edge of the road, illuminated by the headlights.

_Thank you, thank you, thank you. _

It ran though Dean's brain, making his feet move faster, making the flooding warm relief break out through his gut as he tried to close the last distance in as few steps as he could.

Emily's hand went up toward the truck's beam of light, dividing it into a fork that broke in front of her tiny face. There was a sharp pop, a crackling sound as the headlights exploded.

Brakes squealed in a sound of inevitable despair and Dean felt his half-second of optimism choke and die inside of it.

TBC

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	30. Chapter 30

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 30

By: Suz Mc

There wasn't any way to stop this. No screaming or running was going to make this disaster suddenly bloom into a happy ending. Sam's chest was burning with the effort to get to Dean and Emily, even though he knew it wasn't going to make one fucking ounce of difference even if he could.

The truck was sliding toward the spot on the pavement where Emily was frozen, hand in the air, too shocked or freaked out to move. Her moving wouldn't matter anyway. Melting rubber was stinking up the night air as the driver stomped solidly on his brakes and the huge white monster screamed toward a little body that would shatter upon impact.

At this moment in time, Sam Winchester wished he didn't know his brother as well as he did. If he didn't, he'd have had a few more oblivious seconds of not knowing what was coming next, of not knowing that his brother was about to launch himself toward Emily, toward the tonnage that would crash into them and crush them both into a bloody smear across the pavement.

Then Dean was airborne.

Dean's voice was a pinprick of sound against the roar of brakes and horn. There was no way to make out what he screamed as he wrapped his body around Emily's and tried to fly them both out of the way. Super-fucking-man. Poor Man's Batman. Dean's superhero fantasies weren't a match for gravity or the air speed velocity of that goddamn truck that was about to kill them both.

There was a crunching thud as the truck twisted sideways, hiding the entirety of Sam's family from his view.

"Dean!"

Sam felt the rush of air and heat as the truck skidded in his direction and he had to fling himself backward to avoid the enormous Ford's back tire as it dropped off the pavement, digging up gravel and dirt in its out of control spin. Sam felt dirt fill up his mouth as he rolled down into the ditch, tumbling and scratching for anything that would stop his fall.

***

Slow motion, shit. Whoever said that accidents moved that way was out of their fucking mind. Dean's brain was snapping away the half seconds at warp speed. He prayed for momentum to be enough to get them out of this alive as he dove toward Emily and grabbed her against his stomach. The heat from the Ford's engine gushed out of the radiator and burned his face. Too fucking late if he could feel that. Maybe the guy had cut it hard left and they'd roll away with inches to spare. Maybe they'd skate through between the tires. Maybe a fuckin' unicorn would shit a rainbow out for the F-150 to ramp over them.

Emily was screaming a high pitched little kid scream that wasn't a word, just a sound. Sam's voice was somewhere in the air wrapped up in a cloud of screeching brakes and metal.

The impact came just when he'd twisted into a roll. Rolling made you move faster, absorbed the shock of hitting the ground. Less broken bones when you rolled. Does the rolling help? That was from a movie somewhere. Didn't roll, though. Pain exploded against his shoulder. Popping red hot pain. Joints not where they were supposed to be. Slick chrome he could almost taste when it hit. Burning fucking pain. His pain. If it hit him maybe it hadn't hit her.

Good.

Hold tighter.

He crunched in harder when his back hit pavement. Fuck. Tried to cuddle her in, cave in his chest to wrap around Emily's body. He had a better chance to survive the tire rolling over him, absorb the weight, take the brunt. Emily was still screaming, clinging, holding. Had to be alive to do that.

Good.

He flipped once or maybe it was a hundred times. Felt like a hundred times until his head smacked something hard. Emily's head was still in his hand. His knuckles tore against the pavement on every rotation. Take the hit, save her little skull. Too little to take it. Little soft eggshell in his hand. Please don't break. God, somebody please help me.

He was flat, on fire, eyes open. Stars overhead. Stars. Not a truck. His back was burning and the stars moved faster. Not stars moving. Dean moving. Sliding over the asphalt and tearing into his skin. Hold her up.

Crash. It was off to his right, the sound of a wreck, of metal bending, then the ringing sound of nothing.

***

"Oh my God! I hit her!"

Sam clawed his way up the ditch, spitting out grass and dirt. The truck was smashed around a fence post and Bobby was catching the driver as he fell out of the passenger side.

Bobby was talking to the guy, telling him to sit down. The guy was babbling how sorry he was and mumbling "Oh my God," over and over.

Sam scrambled to his feet, stumbling over burned rubber tracks that swirled over the highway in one huge arc. Dean was sprawled about thirty feet away from the spot where those tire tracks ended. His left arm was laying limp on the road. His right arm circled Emily, hand plastered to the back of her head.

"Dean!"

Sam dropped down too hard and it hurt when his knees hit the pavement beside their bodies. Blood. There was blood smeared in a straight line from the point of impact to the place they were laying motionless beside him. Blood was splattered and sprayed over both of them and Sam's fingers smeared through it to check for a pulse on both of them at the same time.

Emily was laying flat against Dean's body, both fists holding tightly to his shirt, clinging to him for dear life. Blood was all over her face, oozing between Dean's fingers, running from his shredded knuckles into her hair.

Pulse. It was there, thumping strong against his fingers. Both of them.

Emily stirred, jolting Dean's eyes open.

"Don't move, Dean."

Dean didn't listen, struggling to hang onto Emily as she began to wiggle against him. His head rolled against the pavement, falling back when he tried to lift it.

The driver had limped closer. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. This truck is practically new. I don't know what happened to the headlights. They just blew. Oh my God. I came over the hill and she was there in the road and the lights exploded and I didn't know where she was. God, I'm sorry."

Bobby had the guy by the elbow. "Calm down, buddy. Sam?"

"I don't know yet, Bobby." Sam was trying to hold Dean down on the pavement so he could check him over. "Dean, lay still."

Dean pulled back the hand covering Emily's head and she immediately let out a wail and tried to pull up closer on his chest. "Check her first. It's okay baby. It's okay."

Sam tried to pull her back and Emily only clung more fiercely to Dean's bloody shirt. Dean instinctively tried to take over, making another attempt to get up. "Stop it, Dean. You just got hit by a truck. Be still."

Dean successfully forced himself into something close to sitting up, failing to bite back the grunt of pain that pushed out of his chest. "Check her, damn it! She's covered in blood. Look at her."

The wailing had dissolved into a weakened whimpering against Dean's chest as Sam ran his hands over Emily's head, felt her arms and legs. "Does it hurt anywhere, Em?"

"Talk to me, Emily." Dean was cradling her with one arm, the other hanging useless at his side. "Where does it hurt?" He wobbled, almost hitting the road again until Sam grabbed the front of Dean's shirt to hold him up.

"Elbow hurts." Emily stuck out her elbow which had a rough road rash scratched into the skin that ran down to her wrist. The cuts on her hands and knees from the night before were open and bleeding again, but that was it.

"It's not bad, Dean, just scratches." Sam switched to his brother's head.

"Not bad?! Check her again. She's covered in blood, Sam!" Dean had Emily's head in his hand, trying to smooth away blood on her face and inspect her with his own blurred vision.

"It's your blood, dumbass!" Sam poked at the gash in Dean's hairline. "Head wounds bleed like crazy."

A single head wound. Stitches. Sam could handle that. He held up his middle finger in front of Dean's eyes. "How many fingers?"

"Funny."

And it was funny. So fucking funny. Dean "Been to Hell, Got the T-shirt" Winchester couldn't possibly be killed by a friggin' truck. What the hell had he been thinking?

"I'm so sorry!" The driver was right there, hovering over them. His face was bloody, probably from the airbag. "Is she okay? I've got insurance, man. Whatever I need to do. God, I've got kids, too. I couldn't believe it when I saw her just standing there. I'm so sorry. Are they hurt bad?" The man was digging in his pocket. "Use my phone to call 911. I don't know what happened. I swear. I didn't see her until the last minute."

Bobby grabbed the guy's phone quickly before he could dial. "Sam, do we need help here?"

"I don't know how, but Emily's okay." He took a quick look at his brother's back and found more blood and shredded fabric. Could fix that, too. "Dean's banged up, but I don't think it's serious." His brother was focusing more and didn't need his help to stay steady. "Dean, what else hurts?"

"Shoulder dislocated, again. You can fix it." Dean tried to get up again and had to bite down hard on the pain to stay quiet.

"Stay still. I'll get the ATV." Sam got to his feet and came face to face with the driver who'd accidentally been sucked into their family drama. "Sir, they're okay. Don't worry."

Dean had Emily curled against his neck, his eyes pinched tightly shut, whispering to her in a soothing poetry of "Shhhh, baby--I'm here--We're okay--Shhhh, baby—We're okay." It was like a prayer of thanks Dean was repeating over and over, trying to convince himself that they had really survived being hit by a truck because it was fucking unbelievable.

How they were going to get out of this without this guy calling the cops was a mystery to Sam. They had a wrecked vehicle, a kid wandering on the road in the middle of the night, three bloody accident victims and one civilian desperate to do the right thing.

"Don't you worry, man." Bobby had one hand on the guy's shoulder and gave him a gentle pat. "Nobody's blaming you for this. It's just an accident. We aren't going to call the highway patrol into this, 'cause it weren't your fault that the lights picked now to play out."

"But, why was she out here?"

The man was still a little stunned and Bobby wasted no time waiting on his brains to unscramble. "Emily walks in her sleep and she accidentally got out the front door without her Daddy hearing. Shitty timing, huh?"

"My boy used to do that. We sewed a jingle bell on his pajamas."

Sam hauled Dean to his feet as gently as possible and tried to take Emily only to have his brother shake his head and hold her closer to his chest.

"That's a great idea. We'll try that." Bobby was walking the man back to his truck. "Do you live close by?"

"Yeah, couple miles down the road. I can just call my son to come pick me up."

Bobby was handling this, so Sam cranked the four-wheeler and got it over close to his brother so he didn't have to move his tortured body too far with the weight of a sobbing little girl making it hurt worse.

"Tomorrow, I'll tow your truck anywhere you need me to take it and if you'll let me know what parts you need, we'll get 'er fixed up." Bobby eased the guy down to sit on the bumper of his ruined truck.

"I can't believe I almost killed two people and you're being so nice about it."

Bobby cast a quick glance toward the three of them as they settled on the ATV to hurry them along. "Nobody died and all we have is a busted truck. I think we got a lot to be grateful for, don't you?"

"Amen to that." The guy leaned over to look at Dean, his phone in his hand. "Let me know how y'all are doin' tomorrow, would ya? I really want to be sure you and the little girl are okay."

"We'll be fine." Dean got a firmer grip on Emily and nodded for Sam to go and he did.

***

His head was pounding as if it was still bouncing against the asphalt, almost too heavy to hold up. Concussion, probably. God knows Dean had danced with enough of those. Sam had shifted into hovering mother mode, buzzing around the kitchen, grabbing supplies and firing up the eye on the stove to get water boiling. The joys of a sterilized needle sewing him up lay in his future.

Emily was resting her head too close to his shoulder, his screwed up once again shoulder, and it felt like being burned every time she shifted. She touched his brand once and his teeth nearly went through his lip to keep from gasping. If he made that sound, he was afraid she would get tuned up again or scare her into getting out of his lap and he wasn't ready to let her go just yet.

Sam put a bottle of water in front of him on the table then crouched down in front of Emily. "Hey, sweetheart. How you doing?" Emily didn't pull away when Sam rested her little fingers on his hand.

Her voice was thin, almost a whisper. "I need to go potty."

Sammy could sew up oozing bloody gashes, but a little girl saying "potty" seemed to put him into vapor lock.

"When you gotta go, you gotta go, huh, kid?" Dean leaned over to kiss her hair and it felt brittle where his blood had started to dry there. "Go ahead. I'll be up in a little while."

She was about to cry again, looking up at him with those big wet eyes that were crammed full of too much life and death and fear.

"I've taken care of Daddy before, Emily. He'll be okay."

Sam was still holding her hand, her right hand in his right hand. Square one. Son of a bitch. Emily looked down at their connection and slid off of her father's lap. Her little arms twined around Sam's neck. She whispered something and Sam smiled that sad defeated smile he did sometimes and answered, "I know you are. It's okay. We'll start over." It was one twelve stepper to another, one addict to another, desperately sorry for falling off the wagon.

Start over. Dear watched her walk out of the kitchen, all of the progress she'd made ripped out from under her. They were back to the beginning, trying to stay upright on shaky ground. Fuck.

"You're on number seven." Sam was back up and moving, the forceps, hemostats, those fancy tweezers he'd lifted from the last time Sam landed in the ER, and the fucking needle splashed into the boiling water.

"What?"

"The way I figure it, you've used up seven of your nine lives so you might want to do a better job of rationing from here on out." Sam was laying out the supplies like a friggin' mad scientist.

"She's on number three." Emily had shaken hands with Mr. Dead three times and walked away. She was her father's daughter and it made puke rise up in his throat thinking about it.

Sam didn't answer, just started dabbing an alcohol soaked pad at the wound on his head.

"Sam, she let it out, all out."

"She's sorry." Sam reached over to dip the surgical supplies out of the boiling water and pat them dry on a towel. "Let it go for now."

Sam's hand was shaking when he picked up the needle. It was quite an about face from his stance of a few days ago when he thought Dean should take the bull of Emily's power by the horns and start some family group therapy over it. But he was too fucking dry inside to deal with it tonight. The to do list was too big.

"Head first, then shoulder, okay?" Sam tried to steady his hand and failed.

"Sam, can't we just close it with butterflies?"

"You just got bitch slapped by a truck and you're afraid of a few stitches?" His hand was steady now that he wasn't thinking about Emily and her psychic overload.

"No, I'm not scared, bitch. It's just that it's on my face."

"Hairline, Dean."

"Last time I checked my hair touches my face and I don't want stitches on my face, okay?"

Sam burst out laughing, that hysterical laugh you do when adrenaline and dread have duked it out in your chest and your self control was just gone.

"My God, Dean. You are one vain bastard."

Now Dean was laughing, too. Had to laugh. Needed it so fucking bad because if he didn't he was going to break under the weight of how bad his body hurt and how bad his heart ached. "No way you're getting close to this face with that needle, being as you're so freaking jealous of how pretty I am."

Sam had laughed so hard his eyes were watering. "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, midget boy."

Dean watched Sam make his way toward the stove to turn off the eye. They were both laughing like lunatics. Like nobody had come close to dying. Like Emily hadn't unleashed her powers and nearly killed a clueless civilian who just happened to be driving by. Like her descent back into nightmares wasn't tearing her apart. Like either one of them had a clue what to do about any of it so they could drive to Lawrence and become the Happy Winchester Family.

Before Dean could brace or react, Sam's palm was pressed into the ground zero pain that was his shoulder, knee in his back, jerking with that bone grinding agony that made Dean's ears explode and his eyesight go white. It was supposed to be easier when you didn't tense up. Shit on that.

"SONOFABITCH!"

He cried out with the white hot pain of it, not giving a rat's ass about how it sounded and giving it all he had to keep upright and not collapse into a drooling heap on the floor.

"Don't you hurt my daddy!"

Emily was right in front of him, her furious face blood red and distorted by his blurred vision. Her hand was raised toward Sam, toward the flame still burning blue and gold on the stovetop. He was back to the road, back to those half seconds that lay between them and disaster.

Sam had sense enough to jump as far away from the fire as possible when it leapt up into the air.

It could have been just a warning. Could have been just bad aim on her part. Or it could be a compulsion that couldn't be fought. Power. Demon blood. Demon DNA. Rage. Desperation. God no. Not this. Not again.

Dean staggered backward to put his body between the flame and Sam, between the flame and Emily, trying to block whatever crackling energy was radiating from his four-year-old's deadly hand.

"STOP IT, EMILY! DON'T HURT HIM!"

TBC

***


	31. Chapter 31

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 31

By: Suz Mc

It was a freeze frame moment with Bobby Singer's kitchen as some weird soundstage. Emily's hand was dropping down in slow motion, her eyes darting around the room from her father to the flames to Sam and back. The time ticked by in silence because the second someone spoke, there would be no going back.

Sam took in his brother's position. It was his blocking stance, lined up between Emily and the flames. Dean's hand was reaching out in front of Sam like he did sometimes when he slammed on the brakes too hard. For a long time, it had pissed Sam off when Dean did that, made him feel like a kid. After the apocalypse, after the healing, Sam stopped being annoyed by it. It wasn't condescension. Age and years had let him see it for what it was and Sam let his brother do it without complaining.

Dean stood frozen between Sam and Emily, trying to protect them both at the same time. He had this stricken look on his face, a man standing on a ledge with nowhere to go.

Then Dean looked over toward him and the weight of his sorrow, of his despair was enough to bring tears to his eyes. This was his brother's worst nightmare, the one they'd lived through before, rising up in the body of his greatest love. Sam had watched that same clinching despair on Dean's face the night he'd expelled Samhain, the night he'd slurped up demon blood at his feet, the night he'd killed Lillith and nearly plunged them all into Hell.

He was posed like a statue, as if any movement was going to break him in two. This was the one moment that could change the course of Emily's life. Dean knew it. It wasn't simply a moment, it was the moment. It would define or destroy everything from here on out and when Dean cocked his head sideways at Sam, there was a slight tremble in his lip that no one else would have ever seen if they hadn't known his face for a lifetime.

That tremble, that signal of decision sent a sickening rush through Sam's blood and he felt the tears roll down his face as he mouthed, "Don't," at Dean. There was a part of him that knew what had to be done, but knowing what he knew, knowing how big the power could be, how suffocating and strengthening at the same time, how shameful and belittling it was to be the freak, he couldn't stand to see it happen to Emily.

"Please don't." Sam whispered it this time, ignoring Emily's frantic staring at them both.

Dean closed his eyes in a brief moment of control, trying to wash Sam's plea out of his sight, then his entire body language changed. It was the authoritarian, the general, the angry older brother-father who could make you slink off to the bathroom and cry because you couldn't stand his disapproval.

"Don't you EVER let me see you raise that hand to another human being, Emily! EVER!"

Dean stalked across the linoleum to tower over Emily. She flinched backward, looking too small to withstand the anger being rained down over her head.

"This light and fire bullshit ends tonight! Right here!" His voice was hard and rough, the same voice he used to bellow at spirits, at enemies. "You can't burn people or hurt people."

"Uncle Sammy…he was hurting you…"

Dean cut off her trembling voice. "NO HE WASN'T! He was putting my shoulder back in place after I was hit by a truck! He was fixing me and you were going to burn him for it!"

"I wasn't—"

"Yes you were. It was just like the man yelling at Bobby. You could have scarred them or killed them for something you didn't understand and you lied to Sam when you said you wouldn't do it again. I won't tolerate lies, little girl. Not ever."

The realization was easy to see play over Emily's face. Dean had outted him for not keeping her secret and the hurt and shame came off of her little body in waves. She focused on Sam and he couldn't help but try to offer her something to make up for betraying her trust, so he smiled, trying to give her forgiveness, some comfort, and maybe get some for himself.

"I saw what you did, Emily. I saw! You nearly killed that man on the highway and us in the bargain. For nothing! Just because you could. And you almost hurt your uncle." Dean pointed at Sam and Sam wanted to disappear, not to be part of this. "This man who would die for you! You don't have the right."

Her mouth was open with no sound coming out, tears rolling down her cheeks and over her lips so she could taste them.

"No more screwing around with fireflies! No more exploding light bulbs! No more fire! Ever again! I mean it."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't matter if somebody dies, Emily." Dean dropped down to his knees, still a frightening presence hanging over her. "Tell me you will never use this power again. NOW!"

There was that flinch again, that jerk of fear when he yelled down over her head.

"I won't, Daddy." Emily sobbed out the words, her little face crumbling.

"Say it! All of it." His hands were on her arms now, yanking Emily right up into his face. "I won't use the power again ever!"

"I…won't use the…power again.."

"Ever!"

"Ever."

Dean wasn't screaming at her anymore. He dropped his voice down to a normal level and the release of force let a break find its way between the words. "If you swear you will never use this power again, we will never talk about this again as long as we both live, Emily."

As long as we both shall live. It was a conditional vow Dean was making with her and Emily seemed to be dangling in between his hands as he made it, understanding that it was the deal breaker.

"Swear it."

"I promise."

"Swear!"

She was so fragile there hanging in Dean's grasp. So was Dean. He was tragically broken at this moment in a way that no one on the planet would ever understand except Sam.

Emily was crying harder now, gasping for air, for forgiveness, willing to do anything to get that look off of Dean's face. "Mama says not 'posed to swear."

"I'm your father and I said to swear. Swear it, Emily, and this is over!"

"I swear. Won't do it again…ever…please don't be…mad…"

At that moment, the air changed around them, something so profound that it left Sam almost dizzy from the lack of it in the room around them. Dean pulled Emily in close to his chest. He didn't say anything, just pressed his face against her still bloody hair and held it there. Dean was holding his features under such tight control that one sob could shatter his face off of his skull to scatter across the floor. He wasn't breathing or speaking, just wrapping Emily up and smothering her against his body.

Dean drew in a deep breath that rattled in his throat as he pulled Emily back to stand in front of him. It was hard to tell who was more damaged at that moment. Her breaths came in little desperate hitching sounds and her fists were twisted in the fabric of her father's sleeves to hold on if he pushed her away.

"We're done with this forever, Emily. I mean it. Forever." Then he had her face in one hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb to settle her, to reassure her that he was sealing their bargain to never bring this up again. He'd lowered a sledgehammer down on top of this situation between them and even a four-year-old could feel it.

But the cost had been high, national deficit level, too many zeroes to manage level.

"Now," Dean got that one word out but held back to level his voice, "you go up to your room and wait while Uncle Sammy finishes with me. I'll help you get cleaned up when I get there, okay?"

"Yes, sir, Daddy. I'll be good. I promise." She rushed back against his chest, clinging to him in some frantic apology.

"I know, baby. I know."

It was the meaning behind every single word and deed Dean Winchester had ever said or shown his own father. Yes, sir. I'll be good so you won't leave me, so I can be worthy.

Dean rocked her just a bit, whispering I love you's into her ear in comfort. "Okay," Dean pulled her back again, trying to smooth her hair back from her face, "you go ahead."

"I'll take her." Bobby was at the doorway, glowering at Dean like he'd just witnessed him kicking a puppy. But Bobby didn't interfere or comment, just waited as Emily started toward him, only to have her run back and grab Sam around the knees.

"I wouldn't hurt you, Uncle Sammy. Not ever."

He picked her up, not caring if it painted him too much the good cop to Dean's bad. "I didn't think so, sweetheart. Forget it."

"Just wanted to scare you so you wouldn't hurt Daddy."

"I love you, Em, and I wouldn't hurt your Daddy unless it was to help him, see?"

She looked him square in the eye with something so determined, so solid that he couldn't look away. Her tiny hand slipped into his and she squeezed it tightly to his palm then let go. It was their own private communiqué that no one else could understand. Sam kissed her, then put her back to the floor on her bare feet.

Bobby passed out dirty looks to both of them before scooping Emily up into his arms and disappearing up the stairs. When they were out of sight, Dean grabbed hold of the counter, leaning over the sink as if he was about to heave his guts down the drain. Bloody knuckles paled to white in the effort of that grip to keep him upright.

"I never wanted to do that. Never wanted that."

There wasn't any stone face or resolve left and Sam watched as his brother's shoulder and back trembled under the sheer weight of his guilt.

"Dean." Sam put a hand on part of Dean's back that wasn't torn and bloody, shocked that he didn't immediately shake it off.

"It was all I could think to do. She'd never stop. She's too little to understand and somebody would die, Sam. God, I never wanted to scare her like that. But—"

"You had to do it, Dean. It was the only thing that would make her stop. You probably saved her life because this would never stop and she's just as much at risk as anyone crossing her path if she struck out." Sam had flinched minutes ago when he tried to soften the blow for Emily and had attempted to stop Dean from doing what had to be done. It had to be one of the strongest things he'd ever seen his brother do, but it was tearing him apart.

"I used her loving me, her fear of me not loving her to control her and that makes me one scumbag son of a bitch, Sam. It does." It was like his heart was pouring down into the sink as he stared, wounded like he was the one who'd just been whaled on, not Emily. "I never wanted to see that in her eyes. Never wanted to talk to her like that. Never. I'm going to be him. God, this is just like him. "

"No you're not, Dean. You did this for her, to save her while she could still be saved."

Sam just stood there beside him, showing Dean enough respect to let him hide his face in the sink while he wept. And Dean was crying, but if Sam had watched it would have made him feel even more weak and disgusted with himself so Sam pretended he wasn't doing it like he always did.

"Dean, I have something to tell you that might make you feel a little better." Comforting Dean felt odd because he rarely needed it or allowed it. "Something changed while you were talking to her just now."

"Yeah, she realized she's got a mean bastard for a father."

"No." Sam slowly guided Dean back toward the chair. It was always easier to deal with Dean when he was distracted, so he set about closing up the oozing split on his head with the requested butterflies. "I didn't notice it until it was gone, but there's been this kind of quiet buzz coming off of Emily, like white noise that was so soft I didn't hear it until it was shut down. It stopped while you were talking to her."

"What does that mean, Sam?"

"When she touched my hand just a minute ago, Dean, there was nothing there. No buzz, no shock, no nothing. Just a flesh and blood human touch."

Dean grabbed Sam's hand so hard it made him drop the tweezers he'd pick up to pull gravel out of his back. "Swear to me that you're not just saying that, that it's true."

"I swear to you on your daughter's life that I didn't feel one thing when I touched her just now." Dean let go and Sam went back to work. "I think what you said to her stirred her emotions to such a level that she was able to shut it down. Like she flipped a switch or something so you wouldn't be angry with her."

"So I scared her so bad it broke something inside her, is that what you're saying?"

"No, I'm saying that it took this for her to find the strength to turn it off. You just made her strong enough to control it, to say no." Sam slit open the back of his brother's shirt and began the process of picking and cleaning another Winchester battle scar. "You saved her from having to go through what I..I mean, now she doesn't have to go through that because you stopped it for her. It's worth anything you had to do, Dean. It was. It is."

Sam worked in silence for a few minutes, yanking out bits of gravel from Dean's skin and cleaning the wounds, pausing every now and then to let Dean catch his breath. He hadn't meant to turn this around to his own battle scars, but there was no way around it. Whatever hurt Dean had to dish out or take tonight, saving Emily from a slow descent into power-mania, it was worth it and Sam could swear to it.

"All done." Sam started cleaning up the first aid supplies as Dean hauled himself out of the chair one weary inch at a time.

"I need to get upstairs and see if I can settle her down to sleep."

"Are you still going to drink the dreamroot, Dean? I don't think either one of you are up to it after what just happened on the road and in here."

"No, Sam. If she's got a chance at normal, it's got to be clean and free from all of this crap that's messing with her head." Dean tried to be smooth about bracing himself against the table to fight the dizziness he felt. "Emily kicked the shit out of what that demon bitch put in her body, so I'm going to make sure she gets control back everywhere else."

***

Dean hesitated outside the doorway, unsure of the welcome that was waiting for him in Emily's bedroom. The clean t-shirt he'd slipped into stung against the raw skin on his back, but he didn't mind the hurt. He'd earned it with every angry word he'd thrown at that little girl. He could hear the sounds of water splashing in the bathroom and followed it inside to catch the end of a conversation that was light years away from the dickhead screaming he'd just delivered to Emily.

"I'm sorry I broke'd your lights." Emily was standing on the bathmat, soaking wet once again. The dirty water was draining away a mixture of dirt and blood, his blood and hers mingled up in soap bubbles.

When she looked up to find him standing in the doorway, Emily looked frightened, like she expected more anger to be pumped into her. It was worse than any bullet, any blade shoved into his flesh. There wasn't any need to keep up the tough guy front anymore. That damage had been done. Dean had burned that image of him raging in front of her for all time. She knew what a son of a bitch he could be because she'd seen it first hand and didn't want to see it again so she was going to be an obedient little soldier.

_That was what you were going for, wasn't it, asshole?_

Bobby shot a look over his shoulder that was as icy as the one downstairs then turned back to Emily with a warm smooth voice. "Lil Bit, you know what I've got way back in the corner of my lot?" He was drying her off, ignoring the magnitude of what Emily was asking forgiveness for and talking like they were just planning any other day.

"What?" She looked frail with her head sticking out of a faded blue bath towel. Emily may have been talking to Bobby, but she was looking up at Dean with bone deep need for something, anything from him.

When Dean smiled at her and folded his arms to lean against the doorframe, the tension drained out of her little body just like the bloody bathwater behind her. He was the biggest dick west of the Mississippi for doling out his affection to her like that, like he was making her earn it. It was over now, that awful thing he'd done and somewhere deep inside he knew he'd never have to do it again. It was done. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he cared for and spoiled her, no matter how much she loved him back, those three or four minutes downstairs would always be in the back of Emily's mind and it made him feel sick and sorry even if it had been necessary.

"I've got a big ole bucket truck and you and me will get up in there and go way up in the air to those lights and fix 'em up." Bobby was rubbing the water out of her hair and smiling that big grandfather grin at her. "Be like it never happened at all."

One of Bobby's calloused old guy hands shot back behind him and he shook it at Dean, waiting for him to do something, to give him something. He shook it once, impatiently waiting for Dean to get with the program. After being wacked by a truck, he was a little slow on the uptake, but finally he reached around the corner into the top drawer that held most of Emily's things and pulled out pajamas with butterflies all over them and gave them to Bobby.

Dean waited for her to get completely dressed before holding out his arms to her. She rushed into them, hopping up to meet his hands in the air. "You want to snuggle with me a while?" Her answer was to nod against his neck and keep a desperate circle of little girl arms around him. "Good."

Bobby glared at him, hot with things unsaid that he'd no doubt refine and edit to slap him around with later. He'd deserve whatever Bobby had to say and he'd take it, but later. When the older man left, Dean could stop dealing with his judgmental crap and focus on his kid.

The bed creaked under his weight as he folded down onto it with Emily held tightly against him. His own body was trying to kick the shit out of him and enjoying the hell out of it while he tried to make himself comfortable on Emily's twin bed while she suffocated him.

"Let's get comfortable, Cutie Pie." He kicked off his boots and settled them both against the pillows. "How's that?"

"Good."

"Good."

And it did feel good. Her shampoo fresh hair under his chin and her little body all in one piece. The last hour had sucked hard and all he wanted was to stow it away somewhere and forget it. The rhythm was easy and soothing as he rubbed Emily's back and felt her relief and ease returning. Didn't loosen up her deathgrip on his neck, though, and it made the pulse in his jacked up shoulder beat even harder.

"We both need to sleep, Emily. I'm not going to let anybody hurt you. Just let go."

There was a sharp gasping cry against his neck and she was crying again. "I can't…I'm sorry, Daddy…don't be mad."

"Shhhh, it's okay. Don't cry." There was no way she was going to sleep now and he owed her a surrender after the hell he'd put her through. "I don't think I could go to sleep now, either." Another kiss on her head made him feel better. "We'll just rest here and talk for a while. That'll work."

After he flicked off the light and Emily realized he wasn't going to pressure her anymore to go to sleep, Emily untied the knot she had around Dean's neck. It was comfortable and safe here holding her in the dark and he keep his voice soft when he whispered down into her ear.

"What should we talk about?"

"I dunno, Daddy. What do you want to talk about?"

"I know, we could talk about moving to Lawrence and the cool house we're going to live in." The normal life he didn't have a clue how to build, but it was as good a topic as any. "I was only there once, but I think you and me and Sammy can be happy there."

"Grandma Mary lived there."

"She sure did. Her room was upstairs and I think it was the biggest one. Would you like to have that one for your room?" Emily looked up and smiled and it was the most friggin' wonderful thing he'd seen all day. "All right then. Ariel said she'd send your stuff when we got settled and I promise to make it as close to your old room as I can." After he ripped off that trellis he'd seen his own mother use to climb out of her window and sneak off with his dad. That bitch was coming down the first day.

"Can I go back to school? I'm 'posed to be in 4K this time and I'll be good, I will."

School. He hadn't even thought about it. It was September and it had already started. That much of her old life he could give her back. "Sure you can. We'll find a great school and you'll make friends and—"

"What if they don't like me?"

"Pretty girls have it made, kid, and you're the prettiest 4K girl around. It'll be great. I promise."

She'd taken to twisting his amulet around her fingers and it seemed to calm her even more. "Is Uncle Bobby coming with us?"

"No, Lil Bit, I've got to stay here." Bobby was back and he looked less likely to carve out Dean's eyeballs this time. "But I'll come visit. Promise." He handed Dean an ice pack. "Thought you could use this for your shoulder."

Jesus, it felt good when the cool bag snuggled up under his sleeve. "Thanks, Bobby."

One brief nod was all he got in return as Bobby eased a small box of Kool-aid with a thin straw poked through the top into Emily's hands. "Thought you might be thirsty."

The little girl began slurping up the blue liquid like crazy and Bobby ran a gentle hand over her head. When his other hand gave Dean's head a soft scrub, it caught him off guard. Bobby may not like what he'd done, but he wasn't giving him a failing grade, either.

Night began to settle around them both as Bobby left them alone. He wasn't sure how long had passed and he may have dozed a bit himself when Dean realized Emily was snoozing softly against him. The straw dangled from her mouth but the empty box had fallen to the floor.

"Hey."

Sam was sitting in the rocking chair beside them, keeping watch. It was becoming a habit of his lately.

"I thought it was warm milk that put kids to sleep." Dean eased the straw from between her lips and tossed it aside. She was peaceful, cheeks puffed out with air, mouth tipped up at the corners like she was actually happy.

"According to Bobby, it's blue Kool-aid and benedryl."

"Bobby slipped my kid a mickey?"

"Yeah, thought she needed a hand. Now here's yours." When Sam put the cup of noxious dreamroot tea close to Dean's face he nearly gagged. He twisted his fingers together and showered small clippings of Emily's hair into the liquid and swirled it around to mix it up. Before he handed him the bright yellow coffee cup, Sam hesitated. "There's enough for me to come with you, if you want."

It was a kind offer, sort of, in a way. Sam didn't want an ass kicking going on in Emily's head and wanted to be the family referee. "I think I need you out here. You know, just in case something weird happens."

"Define weird." Sam put the cup in his hand and relaxed back into the rocking chair.

"I see your point." Dean sipped at the nasty brew to keep from puking it up. "Why the hell does everything magic have to taste bad? Can't it be a nice beer for once?" Another bigger sip. Gross.

"I don't make the rules, dude." Sam's eyes were closed but there was no way he was going to sleep. He'd sit there all night staring a hole through them both watching for any minute change that might mean they were in trouble. Sam Winchester was nothing if not vigilant. It was one of his better qualities and the one Dean needed tonight more than ever.

"Night, Sammy."

"Night, Dean."

TBC


	32. Chapter 32

_Note -- So sorry to leave y'all hangin'. Real life kicked my butt this week. But now I'm back. Love you all for sticking with me. Now, on with the story! Suz _

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 32

By: Suz Mc

It was the best feeling to have Emily wrapped up close in his arms when he drifted off. Sleep didn't usually feel so delicious and safe. Sleep was something you did when your body just gave the fuck out and you didn't do it for very long because anything could slither up beside you when you were out and then it was lights out for good with your throat cut and you'd be found drooling in nothing but your boxers with Casa Erotica blaring on the television.

This sleep was amazing and he rolled into it, all warm and comfortable. Sam was out there in the real world. Dean remembered that when he let go completely. Had his back. Had Emily's back. There was that clean, innocent scent under his nose. Her hair. Her tiny ear close to his lips.

_I'm coming, baby._

The space between consciousness and dreams swallowed him. There was something he had to do, but swimming through the luxurious nothing was making it hard to remember. There was water, warm and thick like salt water. The ocean. Last time he'd been in the ocean swimming was that spring when he was twelve and he and Sammy lucked out to be at Venice Beach when Dad was hunting nearby. The surfers had taken them under their collectively stoned wings and let them hang out all day and all night on the beach. Dad had nearly shit when he found out they'd been beaching it with stoners on surf boards instead of staying locked in the hotel room for four days. Yeah, like they'd stay inside when there was the beach and pretty girls and life right outside the door.

He'd sworn off shorts after that summer. Not manly. Jeans and boots didn't work on the beach. Yep, the last time he'd been swimming for fun had been that summer on Venice Beach. The one and only time he'd thought about running away from Dad, of just grabbing Sammy and fading into the other wandering people who lived close to the water and seemed to get by on their own.

He could see the shore now. White sand that swirled around in peaks and dunes. Perfect.

He never mentioned the running away idea to Sammy, but he would have gone. Would have followed him anywhere. Dean just took the ass reaming Dad delivered when he showed up at nine o'clock p.m. on evening number four to find them lounging around a campfire with a bunch of fried surfer dudes under a cloud of pot smoke.

Dream swimming didn't make you tired. He felt energized, pumping the water , sun warm on his back. He kept moving toward the shore because he needed to get there and do something.

_Need to stretch out beside that hot blonde warming up her towel for me, that's what._

She was smokin' hot and he doubled his strokes to get back to the shallows. Her head was lolled backward, soaking up the sun beating down on her face. The swimsuit was tiny which was the best kind of swimsuit, bar none. One leg stretched out and one bent at the knee. The way she was propped up with both arms angled behind her in the sand displayed said tiny bathing suit's best qualities in a way that said, "Come here and let's get naked."

He pulled himself out of the water and resisted the urge to shake like a dog. Not cool when you're trying to create an image for hot beach girl when she finally raised up her head to notice you coming out of the water toward her. The swim trunks weren't too ridiculous, not the Speedo he remembered from one particularly degrading nightmare he'd had once. No, he was looking good. He knew it. Made him walk a bit more Bay Watch style while she watched from behind white rimmed sunglasses that matched her slightly more than transparent bikini.

The smile was familiar, warm pink lips curved up to greet him. The girl brought up her hand nice and slow to pull off her shades. It was a sensual move that chicks did so well, easing sunglasses down their nose and hesitating while they decided if you were worthy of watching unshielded.

He was almost at the edge of her enormous beach towel when the shades dropped to her side and he stopped dead.

"Hey, Dean."

Calley.

"You're blocking my sun, dude." She patted the towel beside her and he sat down silently, too confused to know what to say. "What? Black cat got your tongue?"

"You're funny."

"Yes. Yes, I am." Calley didn't look at him, just continued to take in the sun and the water like she was desperately trying to maintain some hard won serenity. "Emily must have told you about Galveston."

"Yeah, she did. Sam even found a picture of you two here." Little brother had printed it for him to carry in his wallet. It was a nice wallet sized image of a beautiful woman who didn't belong to him, but had given him everything. It was like carrying his gratitude and remorse for Calley around in his pocket.

"Thus the reason I'm here in my favorite swimsuit." For a second, she cast down her eyes like it was the first time she'd noticed that she was wearing the white crocheted bikini.

"Trust me, that swimsuit also becomes the favorite of any guy who sees it."

When Calley's only reply to his ice breaker was to close her eyes briefly and shake her head like she'd just been hit on by a thirteen year old boy, the conversation stalled on his end.

"Oh, she's allergic to jelly fish."

Emily seemed to be a safe topic so he joined in. "She told me. I'll remember if we go to the beach."

"When you go to the beach." It was less a correction and more of a directive to do something that Calley knew made Emily happy. "And she can swim but she needs her floaties in the surf because she's so tiny."

"Got it covered. Beach. Jelly fish. Floaties."

Floaties. Bet Emily loved the hell out of those. The way she hated a booster seat in restaurants, Dean could imagine her pitching a royal fit every time Calley tried to slide those things onto her boney little arms.

"And sunscreen. She's fair, like you, and needs lots of sunscreen."

"Calley, I'm not stupid. I can take care of my child. I won't let her drown or get burned or go into anaphylactic shock, okay?" It came out harsh and angry when that was the last thing he wanted. She was only trying to pass on information to protect Emily. It was what he'd be doing if the roles were reversed.

They both stared out at the water, taking some measure of safety in refusing to broach any other subject bordering on touchy.

It was nice here by the water and he didn't even mind the swim trunks thing. If Emily was here, it would have been better. They could have been a family vacationing on the beach, watching their little girl play in the water. Afterward, they would have headed back to some beach motel and piled up in one bed, sunburned and happy, to get up and do the same thing again the next day.

Something was tugging at the back of Dean's mind, something that needed his attention but was just out of reach. Silence wasn't going to move things along so he decided to give it another try.

"Uh, this is awkward."

The air around Calley seemed to shift as she turned toward him, blonde hair momentarily dropping down into her face. She lifted it away with her hand, like it was so heavy it needed a shove to move. Deep blue eyes studied him hard and he wanted to slink away from that inspection.

"Yeah, it is. Why don't I break the ice for both of us."

There was a brief whooshing sound as Calley's small fist sailed through the air and nailed Dean's jaw. There wasn't one twitch to telegraph her intentions to pole him like he'd just been caught nailing her best friend. The part of Dean's brain that wasn't stinging from being slugged was more than a bit impressed. The rest of him saw stars mingled in with being pissed because, even if he'd had worse, it blew like a hurricane to get sucker punched, especially by a girl.

"Shit, lady! What the hell?!" He was yanking himself up from the sandy towel and tasting blood in his mouth.

"If you ever talk to her like that, scare her like that again, so help me I'll find a way to climb down here and kick your ass in real time. We clear on that, big man?!" There wasn't anything delicate about Calley Rail, in spite of her size. This woman was one hundred percent pissed off mother in full bitch mode.

"Hey, I had to make a decision, okay? You don't have the creds to criticize me since I'm the one on the ground now in this battle, lady."

"Hell yes, I do, Mr. Badass Who Yells at Four Year Olds!" She'd gotten to her feet, looking as formidable as a woman of five-two in a white bikini could look. "You behave how you like with me, but when it comes to my baby, step off!"

This was getting him nowhere. Arguing with Calley didn't seem to be the right thing to do and didn't seem to be why he was here in the first place. He'd never raise his hand to her, not after what he'd done to her when she was alive, so before Minnie Mouse decided to launch into him with her other fist, Dean held up both of his hands in surrender. "Look, I won't deny I'm an asshole. You already know that. But what I said and did to Emily, I did because I love her too much to let her get eaten up by what that demon bitch put in her." The guilt was stirring up in his guts again, thick and sour. "I just didn't have any options, Calley. She hurt people, might kill someone. What would that do to her? I had to find a way to stop her and I think it worked. I never want to be hard with her. She's my baby, too."

"I didn't say I thought you were wrong, stupid." Calley folded back down to the towel, trying to hide the fact the she was rubbing her knuckles. "But don't do it again. Once is enough to get the message, okay?"

"I agree." Before he knew it, Calley's bruised fist was in his hand. This was the mother of his child and he wanted to be sweet to her. She deserved that from him. Fathers should be nice to mothers. "You hit hard for a girl."

"You fall down hard for a boy." There was a half twinge of a smile as Calley watched her hand in his and let it lay there without yanking it away. For all of her bravado, the frail small hand trembled, but she forced herself through it. "Sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"Sure you should. Would you like another shot to even things up?" He picked up her fist and fit it beside his eye. "You've got an odds on chance of winning the title if you sock me into a shiner right here."

"You're an idiot."

All the awkward seemed to fade away between them as Calley's fist unfolded, but stayed in his hand.

"I wish things had been different between us, Calley. Like we could have really known each other, really known each other without you being hurt."

In response, Calley flopped herself back on her towel and closed her eyes against the sunlight. "So how would that have worked, Dean? Sketch it out for me."

"Well, I'd have probably been on a job in Austin and seen you walking down the street."

"Go on."

Now he was back onto the trail of how hot she was instead of the miles of bad mojo between them. Dean eased down on one elbow, close enough to enjoy being with her and the way she was letting him. "Like I said, I would have probably seen you walking down the street and found a way to get your attention."

"How's that?"

"By telling you something witty and intelligent and dazzling you with this smile."

"That one?"

He'd been smiling without realizing it. "Yeah. The ladies love it."

"Uh huh."

"And then I would have given you one of these," Dean threw in a wink for good measure, "and you couldn't have resisted my sincerity."

"Your sincerity? Is that what they call it? Okay, then what?"

"After I drew you in with my sincerity and my disarming good looks, I would have taken you out someplace nice and gotten to know you."

"You would, huh?"

"Yes, ma'am. I would have gotten to know you good and proper and then we would have made serious, break all the windows it was so friggin magic love and made that beautiful kid and lived happily ever after."

"Yeah. Right!"

She didn't open her eyes, just let out an unbridled, unfettered stream of laughter. It was wide open and silly, the way she giggled and rolled over on her side toward him like his little tale of seduction was the funniest thing she'd ever heard.

And he started laughing, too.

"Okay, one shovel full too many. I get it." Her hand was back in his, sharing the moment as if they had moments.

"Little too much leading man and not enough man-whore to be you, Dean." Now Calley was up on one elbow, leaning down over him.

"Hey, I resemble that remark."

"You sure do." She didn't mean it as a judgment or insult, just funny. Calley was freaking funny. Calley was gorgeous. Calley could throw punch and raise a fantastic kid.

And Calley took on a demon and died.

With a big smile on her face, Calley folded both arms on Dean's chest and rested her head there, making him warm and comfortable enough to stay there forever. "So, you wanna revamp your version of that proposed demon-free meeting in Austin?"

"Honestly," he let one of his hands play with her hair while he came clean, "I would have told you I was an agent looking for the new hot, young It girl and done a poor job of lying because I couldn't think with my upper brain anymore once I got you alone. Then I would have used more flattery or sympathy ploys to get you into bed." Her finger ran down his cheek and he kissed it when it reached his mouth. "That the man-whore approach you'd expect from me?"

"I find it seriously doubtful that some off beat, weirdo artist would have appealed to you. I'm not your type."

"Not sure I have a type. I'm pretty equal opportunity. Man-whore, remember?" Her cheek was hot against his skin and he took to stroking her hair until she closed her eyes into the comfort of it. It might be his only opportunity for confession so he took it. "Either way we ended up together, Calley, I wouldn't have been rough with you like, well, it's not the way I am with women and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't help you that night."

Calley's hand spread out gently against his cheek. "You thought you were doing what that woman wanted, Dean. It's on her, not us. Even still, you had a line and you didn't cross it. It could have been a lot worse, like it was with the other men. I'm glad you're Emily's father. I wouldn't undo her for anything."

Then her mouth was on his, kissing him easy and quiet like she needed to soothe his grief over what he'd done to her, over what had been done to them both. The taste of it, of a kiss that was almost more intimate than sex, blew his mind in a glorious way that made it all right, all good, all forgiven. He rolled her onto her back and lost track of the time he spent touching her. They could be together and make love and live the life they should have with Emily.

Emily.

Their daughter who was broken and terrified at night by nightmares. The person he was supposed to be in here to fix.

Dean pulled back from Calley's mouth and pulled his hand away from where he'd been untying her swimsuit. "Calley, you're not really here from up there, are you?"

"No, sweetie, I'm not."

"I'm still in my own head, right? You're just here to keep me from getting to where Dad is and confronting his meddling ass."

She kissed him once more, just a friendly good-bye sort of kiss. "More than likely, I'm an avoidance mechanism."

"Well, at least my avoidance mechanism isn't a fat man in a bikini." God, he didn't want to let go of her, wanted to burn this memory over that ugly one.

Her hand was soft on his cheek and she gave him a smile. "You should go help our baby."

His body wobbled as Calley's dematerialized under him. No sand. No soft sounds of the wind and water. He was dressed in his jeans and t-shirt and he remembered having on when he lay down with Emily.

A long stretch of grass lay out in front of him and he started walking. Everything was lush and alive with sounds. It was a musical blend of birds and guitars. There was laughter mixed in, too. Dean pushed himself up a hill toward some odd purple trees with orange apples hanging all over them and they looked vaguely familiar. When he got close enough to touch, he remembered seeing these same trees in her coloring book that first day at the roadhouse.

He was in her head now, in her dream, and not his own. That made him move more carefully, wary of every motion leaving a mark. This was Emily psyche, her consciousness he was screwing around with and he had to be gentle and cautious in here.

Lights were blinking in the trees edging a picnic area. Nothing was the color it was supposed to be except the brilliant green grass that seemed to sparkle under his feet. The lights were moving through hot pink cotton candy trees and he soon realized that they weren't lights at all, but hundreds of glimmering fireflies. They danced around the edge of Emily's fantasy world, twirling around in circles and waves, sometimes making shapes, sometimes spelling names and blinking them like some flashing signage.

Emily. Daddy. Uncle Sammy. Uncle Bobby. Mama. Miss Ellen. Grandpa. Miss Ariel. Baby.

She even included the puppies in her list of things and people she loved that crawled over the scenery, like she had to keep everybody close.

There were flowers everywhere and wild glittery butterflies. The swings were neon colors and all of the picnic tables were slick colors of blue, purple, and orange. Emily's world was a dizzy blend of Dr. Seuss and Alice in Wonderland.

It was all little girl fantasy except for an ugly brick wall far off in the corner. Thick globs of black smoke tried to come over the top or around the sides but some force held it at bay. The demon. That bitch Amora. She was in here, too, along with everything Emily loved, threatening to come out and destroy it all at any second.

Dean made his way down into the valley that held Emily wild jumble of color and fun, toward the center of the park. Up on a huge white pedestal, there was a tea party in progress. Emily knew how to set a table. There was an oversized centerpiece of flowers and pink cupcakes. The tea set was pink and purple with bright blue tea pouring out of the teapot she was holding. She was dressed in a fluffy white party dress, huge fuzzy bow in her hair, and she had to stand on her chair and lean over to pour tea into the cup of her one party guest.

"Is that enough?"

"Perfect, thank you."

Even if it was a dream, this was his little girl and she was beautiful and it was still hard to believe that something like that had come from him. As Emily got back into her own chair, she caught sight of Dean from the corner of her eye and bounced out of her chair and into his arms. It was a midair catch he was becoming accustomed to. Emily jumped, confident that her daddy would catch her every time, that his hands would be where they were supposed to be and his attention fully on her. It was faith he desperately wanted to deserve.

"Hey, Daddy! You came to my party!" She put a smacking kiss on his cheek and a smile on his face.

"Sure did, Cutie Pie. Wouldn't miss my first Winchester Family Tea Party."

He reached the edge of the platform and put her bare feet on the planks. Emily rushed over to the table and pointed to one of the extra place settings. "You can sit here next to Grandpa John. And look, I can make you pie." She shut her eyes and bobbed her head, making a freshly baked cherry pie appear in front of them.

"I'd love to sit next to dear old Grandpa." Dean pushed his weight up the two steps, holding his eyes firmly fixed on John Winchester. "Wat up, Dad?"

"Hello, Dean."

TBC

***

_**Pretty please take a second to let me know you were here and what you thought about the place. :-) **_


	33. Chapter 33

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 33

By: Suz Mc

Sam had decided he liked the rocking chair. There was something easy about the repetitive motion. He wasn't sleepy. He was too focused on watching Dean or Emily for any sign of distress, but he wasn't wound up as tight as he had been earlier. Rocking was good. No wonder kids liked it.

Both Dean and Emily had fallen into that deep sleep that was the fertile dream ground. The little girl's body language alone was more proof than DNA that she was Dean's kid. Both of them lay flat on their backs, relaxed and snoring softly. Dean had pulled her little hand under his and held it against his stomach. She wasn't moving without him knowing about it.

When Sam still had to share a bed with Dean when they were way too old for that, it annoyed him no end to wake up and find his brother's sweaty hand grasping a wad of his shirt. He'd shove him off and say, "Let go, Dean!" Dean's counter would be, "I'm trying to keep you out of my space, you 'mo!" It felt like Dean was being his keeper, his jailor, like he couldn't make a move without sounding some alarm.

To Dean, love wasn't a noun, it was a verb. Love wasn't something he expounded on nonstop with words. Love was telling you that you were a jerk and still giving you the last Lucky Charms when he was hungry himself. Love was holding the back of your shirt so if anything came for you in the night, he'd know about it. Love was grabbing your hair to yank you back from in front of a car that you didn't see because you were reading the last page of a chemistry chapter. Love was cramming the five hundred bucks he'd saved into your hand before you got on a bus to step out into a new life and leave him behind.

Love was going to Hell for you so you could live.

Sam leaned in a closer to check on Emily as she let out a little puff of air and stretched one arm up over her head. She was good. Dean was good. He sat back and started rocking again.

"He did that to you when you were that size." Bobby's voice was soft and low, so gentle that it didn't even startle when he slipped into the room out of nowhere. "Then your daddy would come in here and try to hold the both of you and sometime in the night I'd hear his hard ass hit the floor because there wasn't enough room."

Sam started rocking again. "I never knew that."

"Didn't think you did." Bobby gave the two bodies sacked out on the bed a thorough inspection. "Everything all right in here so far?"

"I guess, but short of their heads turning into plasma screens I have zero way to tell, Bobby." Nobody was fidgeting or looking disturbed, but that didn't mean squat. Bobby had been going through hell in his dreamroot coma and looked like he was laid out for the undertaker he was so calm. "Dean wanted me out here to watch for anything weird, but how the hell would I know anyway? I should have gone in with him."

Bobby motioned him out into the hallway and Sam followed, stretching out his back as he walked.

"You think Dean and John are going to have the WWE Smackdown when they meet up?" Bobby was still speaking in that quiet, calm voice that just made you want to talk to him, to tell him things. It's why Bobby kicked ass when he interviewed in the field.

"I think Dean is pissed as hell, but he's not going to do anything that will hurt Emily. He's not going to hold back on Dad this time, either. Emily was the line Dad should never have crossed." It had taken years for Dean's obedient soldier's devotion to John Winchester to unravel and having his own child had pulled the last thread. Dean was going to unload and Sam knew it. "I really should be in there, Bobby. I think Dean left some in the cup."

Before he could head back into the bedroom, Bobby stopped him with an arm across the doorway. "There are some roads he just has to walk down by himself, Sam. You gotta let him work this out. It's been years comin' for that boy and if he's gonna grow up enough to be that little girl's daddy, you gotta let him do this."

"I promised I'd help him with this new family thing and I'm not going to let him down." Sam looked past Bobby's cap. Dean and Emily were still and snoozing.

"Of course you're not, kid, but what is it you want out of this deal? I haven't heard you say anything about what your plans are when y'all take off for Kansas."

"I'm going to help my brother get the life he's always wanted and help him raise his daughter."

"I thought that was the life you wanted, too, when you left for Stanford?"

"Yeah, I wanted that, but Bobby you don't understand how much Dean wants it and could never say so because he didn't think he deserved it. Every dream he ever had, every fantasy, every one was of a home and a family. I want to help him get it."

"But what do you want?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Bobby yanked off his hat and rubbed his head in frustration. "Okay, I'm not gonna push you, but alls I'm saying is that you gotta have a place in that new life for yourself. You don't have to spend the rest of your life playin' sidekick to Dean because you think you owe him some penance."

"That's not what this is about."

"Not entirely, but, Sam, he don't expect it and you're paid up." Bobby had both hands on Sam's shoulders. "You be that good uncle and good brother, but you find out what Sam needs to do, too. Okay?"

It made him uncomfortable to think about himself. Half the time, Sam was still back all those years ago, jonesin' for a hit of demon blood and disappointing the entire human race. He'd made it back a little way to who he used to be, but it was still easier to focus on other people than himself.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"You should put some of that down on paper and write a self help book. People pay good money for shit like that." There was a big smile on his face and Sam knew Bobby would take it the way he meant it.

Bobby cuffed him on the head. "I'm gonna get some shut eye. I'll check on you later."

The grandfather clock in Bobby's library was knocking off twelve clanging chimes as Sam settled back into his post in the rocking chair to wait for something to happen.

***

"So, are you the Mad Hatter at this shindig, Dad?"

Dean rocked back in his chair, sipping from the delicate tea cup that was ridiculously small in his hand. He was being nauseatingly civil, forcing a calm face over the anger. Dad was making him more and more pissed as he sat there with his arms folded looking all smug like this was his fucking playground.

"Nope." He leaned forward, taking up his own cup and making a big deal about drinking like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. "Emily is the finest hostess around. This is all her doing, right Baby Girl."

It was smooth, the way Dad kept Emily in the conversation and at the table. The smile on Dean's face was starting to ache with the need to turn into something more belligerent.

"Grandpa John said he'd never ever had a tea party so I gived him one." She was filling Dean's cup again. "Did you never have a tea party, Daddy?" The bright blue liquid splashed around the sugar cube Emily dropped into his tea, tea that tasted strangely like blue Kool-aid.

"As a matter of fact, I had tea parties with my Mom when I was littler than you." Of course they ate Oreos and drank root beer because tea was for girls, but it definitely counted. "But they weren't as awesome as this. You sure know how to throw a party."

Dean watched as she cut into the pie she'd conjured up for him and it was a relief to see how relaxed she was in contrast to the twisted knot she'd been at bedtime. At least in her dreams tonight, there was fun and peace.

But it was a plastic peace, artificial and not her own. That bubbling smoke wad in the corner wasn't being dealt with, only corralled by her douchebag grandfather. Time to kick Grandpa's ass out.

"Say, Emily, that merry-go-round looks like fun. You could go give it a spin while I watch if you want."

Emily was about to move when John Winchester's deep voice halted her departure. "Baby girl, would you mind thinking me up some more of those orange cupcakes? They were fantastic."

"Sure! But I have to think hard to put all the sprinkles on." Emily started building cupcakes with her mind and piling them on a large platter.

Heat bubbled up in Dean's chest and he decided to take the gloves fucking off. A pleasant smile still plastered to his face, he leaned over to whisper right into his father's face, careful to hide his mouth with a frilly yellow napkin. "You think you're one slick manipulating bastard keeping her here so I won't unload, but just watch this."

Emily's pile of orange cupcakes was about ten deep, arranged in a wonky pyramid. "Hope you don't mind, but I brought some surprise guests to your party, Cutie Pie."

"Who?!" Emily perked up, giving her father undivided attention and forgetting the orange cupcakes altogether.

Dean made a very theatrical wave of his hand, enjoying the power of creation he held in this dream world. "Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, and Baby." Bobby's oddly proportioned cocker-weiler half-breed pups materialized in the far corner of the park, bouncing over each other, each with a different colored bow tied around their necks.

"You brought my babies!" Emily was gone in a combination of steps and leaps that took her skipping across the park, past a couple of rainbow painted unicorns and down onto the shimmering grass. The puppies pounced on her, licking and yipping like they had been reunited with her after years in their cardboard box.

"Silly babies!" She was giggling and wallowing around under them, having the time of her life.

Dean cut his old man a sly look, surprised to find something that looked like admiration staring back at him.

"Nicely played, son."

There was no need to whisper any more. "I know my kid." Dean grabbed a cupcake and used it to gesture toward Emily and her babies. "Those puppies are the only thing that can hold her attention for more than five minutes and she'll stay over there loving them and forget we're even here."

"Dean."

John had leaned forward on his elbows, eyeing Dean like he was preparing for some deep fatherly lecture. That one word, that one expression, lit a fuse between them.

"You're some piece of work, you know that?" His heartbeat was already pounding in his ears.

John ran a finger through orange icing and took a bite. "Didn't take long for your gratitude to wear off. Two weeks the shelf life on Dean Winchester's appreciation?"

"Everything has a price, huh, Dad?" Dean did a quick check of Emily and her crew wiggling happily well out of earshot. All the slack he was willing to cut his dad that first week of single-fatherhood made him feel like a huge pussy. "It took me two weeks of being a Dad to figure out you sucked at it."

"Good thing perfection isn't one of the job requirements." John smiled like he was appeasing a child.

"Do you have any fucking idea what she went through last night? Do you? When you didn't show, the nightmare set that demon bitch loose on her and if it hadn't been for Sam, she would have jumped out of the window. She nearly got us both killed tonight because she was so terrified of sleep she ran away out onto the highway."

"I didn't just not show up. If Singer hadn't had that pain in the ass dream catcher, I would have been there."

Not an ounce of contrition. It was like lighter fluid and Dean jerked to his feet, towering over his father and enjoying the superiority of that height advantage.

"Shut up! You don't get to do that! Don't you dare put this on Bobby. You got her to depend on you, to count on you, and when it all went to hell, you left her hanging with all her defenses burned away. Sound familiar, Dad?"

Dean moved, circling the table. His fist was tingling, balled up hard and itching for a target.

"I know you're pissed and I don't blame you, but I never meant to hurt her."

The calm in John's voice was infuriating. The itch in Dean's knuckles turned into a burn.

"So what was your plan, Dad? To come down here into her dreams every night for the rest of her life so you could control her the way you controlled me and Sam?"

John blew out an almost annoyed puff of air that sounded like dismissal, like he did when he was sick of Dean and Sam arguing about whose sandwich half was bigger.

"Don't turn this into some monologue about how much your childhood sucked, Dean."

"Fuck you!"

"If you'll adjust your tone, I'll talk to you like an adult."

"Okay, then. Fuck you sideways!"

"Watch your mouth and remember where you are!"

The itching burning fist pounded hard on the table, scattering orange cupcakes off onto the platform.

"Don't you fuckin' tell me what to do, especially with my kid!" Gobs of icing smeared over the boards under Dean's boots as he plowed back over to where his father sat, cool and self righteous.

"Daddy?" Emily called from across the park, a worried little shake to her voice.

"Don't worry, Baby Girl." John called back to her, smiling with bright white teeth and laugh lines crinkling beside his eyes. "Daddy just had an accident. I'll fix it." John blew across the platform and table, turning the ruined cupcakes to glitter and showering them onto the grass.

Dean forced a smile onto his face and waved back to Emily. "Enjoy the puppies, Cutie Pie. I just need to talk to Grandpa John for a while." When the little girl lost interest in the boring grownups, Dean felt free to dive back in. "How are you even here? Things so boring upstairs you have to play with our heads?"

"Calley saw what Emily was going through at night and she begged me to help her because she couldn't."

"Calley?! Calley put you up to this?"

Stupendous news. His dead father and his dead baby-mama were tuning into the Winchester Channel for kicks.

"Calley couldn't stand to see Emily suffer at night."

" Is that what you people or whatever you are do all day? Watch us? That's sick."

"We don't watch you in the bathroom if that's what you're thinking.'

"Why don't you go get a goddamn life?!"

"Hilarious, considering the circumstances."

"Emily is my child. I'm her father and I'm calling the shots now so you and Calley can get over it and butt the hell out!"

"She's been ripped away from her child and her life, and you know if it was you, Dean, you'd be doing the same thing. Give her a break."

"Why don't you give ME a break, Dad? I'm your fucking son! You are such a hypocrite. All that crap you were spouting when you showed up at the farmhouse about me being a better father than I had was just bullshit. You don't think that or you wouldn't be here."

Dean started circling the table again, his head pounding with the words banging into each other inside his mind. They were assembling into hundreds of enraged slams he wanted to throw at the holier-than-thou bastard sitting in front of him.

"That's not what this was about, Dean."

"It's about what it's always about, Dad. It's about you and what the Almighty John Winchester wants and screw the collateral damage that gets left in his wake. Screw the little kids you grind up."

"Stop being a drama queen."

That cut it. Dean lunged toward John's position at the head of the table, grabbing his father's shoulder hard with one hand and putting their faces so close that he could growl out the whispered threat and not attract Emily's attention.

"I wanna kick your ass so bad right now."

"I know you do and I don't blame you."

"Stop trying to handle me, you son of a bitch. I'd give every chick's number in my phone to give you the beat down you've got coming, but I've got a kid over there who loves you, so I won't. I'm going to settle for you hearing every fucking thing I want to say to you."

John never flinched. He'd have taken the blow and still stayed upright which made Dean's frustration roar in his ears. The bastard could at least pretend to be intimidated.

"Dean, I know it was a mistake and I should have listened but—"

"Wait a minute. You weren't supposed to do this, were you? You got juiced up on angel mojo when they sent you after Emily at the farmhouse and couldn't help yourself, could you?" Now that was a puzzle piece that fit perfectly with the live and kicking JW. "That's just classic John Winchester. At least you're fucking consistent dead or alive, Dad."

"I get that you're pissed. I get that and you're entitled." John moved and it was as close to a flinch as Dean had yet to glean from his father in this battle. The big man walked over to the edge of the platform, leaning on his palms against the railing. He fixed his eyes on a goldfish pond below the platform, back turned toward Emily and her puppies.

"Thanks so damn much for giving me permission to be bent that you hurt my daughter."

"I wanted to help her, to help you. I thought if I got her through a few nights she'd be stronger. If I held the thing at bay a few times, it would disappear."

Neon glowing goldfish leapt out of the water and smacked their tails together high five fashion below them. Fucking fish seemed to like what Dad had to say.

"She WAS getting stronger. I was helping her. Me. The needy, fuck up son you dumped when you felt like it, Dad."

"That's not how it was and you know it."

"What I know is that you left me in charge of Sam for days at a time when he was Emily's age. An eight year old in charge of a four year old. What the hell were you thinking? You didn't deserve kids and you are NOT going to damage my little girl with whatever you're doing in her dreams."

Diarrhea of the mouth wasn't generally his style, but every word, every thought out of his mouth seemed to slam into his Dad, making his arrogant posture stoop more and more. It was better than an ass whuppin' to see John Winchester have to hear the truth from his obedient little soldier.

"I think you're going to find that in this fathering gig, you make decisions without knowing the consequences until you walk through that door."

"I've got the best barometer on the planet to gauge my parenting decisions, Dad. I'll just say to myself, 'What would John Winchester do?' and then I'll do the exact opposite! Fool fucking proof!"

The eyes nearly got to Dean when John turned his head to look at him. They were Emily's eyes, full of hurt. She had Dad's eyes and every time he looked at her he was going to see that.

"That what you did tonight?"

"Shut the hell up." There was a flash of memory that blew against his ear. A memory of his father telling him about Sam, telling him how it might end and the chill of that shook through him like every other parallel Dean had draw between his fight to save Sam and his fight to save Emily. "I swear to God, old man, if start whispering to me about some ultimate solution about Emily and her power, I'll rip your head off here and now."

"I wouldn't do that, but if you want my opinion--"

"Do I look like I want your dickheaded opinion? My daughter's problems are none of your business."

Dad looked away again, nodding in agreement. "You're right, but I understand that you're scared to death for your child. I know that feeling. I know how much you love her, Dean."

"Really? That's great, Dad. Great. You telling me what I feel, like you know anything about me or Emily."

"I know she loves you and I know she's filled up to her eyeballs with something too big for a little kid to hold in."

"You don't know how she feels, you sanctimonious shit! I do! I know how it feels to see your mother burning alive and it feels like all the life is being dug out of you with a rusty knife. I know that!"

It was the shock Dean had been hungry for since the moment he'd laid eyes on his Dad, swilling blue tea and eating cupcakes.

"Wait a minute. You saw, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I saw."

"But you couldn't have seen her. You weren't even halfway up the hallway when I came out of the nursery with Sammy."

The old man had actually paled, color running away from his face. It was heaven.

TBC

***


	34. Chapter 34

_**I just wanted to take a minute to thank everyone who has helped me to tell this story. My beta, Mai, is patient and thorough and beats the inner romance novelist out of me. Kady and Zatnikatel have been as supportive and encouraging as any two friends could be and I so hope to support them as much. Every single review has meant so much to me, you have no idea how much. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. We're getting closer to the end, but there are a few more twists for y'all to trip over so hang on tight. All my love, Suz**_

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 34

By: Suz Mc

John Winchester had been derailed, disturbed, and completely jacked up by the bomb Dean had exploded at his feet.

It was beautiful.

"I heard you running up the stairs. It scared me, because if you were running, something must be wrong. Took me a while to get up the courage to get out of the bed, but when I got to you, she was already bleeding on the ceiling with the flames around her. I ran, but I came back because I remembered you and Sammy were there and you needed me."

"My God, Dean. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't talk for months, Dad. Don't you even fuckin' remember that? All those years, you never talked about her again unless it was about tracking what killed her."

"Son, I'm sorry. I had no idea." A large rough hand grabbed Dean's shoulder, trying to pull him into something like a hug.

"Don't fuckin' touch me!" Dean jerked hard to free himself. "You had no idea that you had a freaked out four year old who needed you? What a clueless bastard."

"If I had known, I would have done something."

Emily's eyes looked back at him again from the indestructible John Winchester's face and the pang in Dean's gut caught him by surprise. He'd drawn blood, cut deep and to the bone. It didn't feel as satisfying as he'd imagined. Dean shrugged it off, trying to swallow the momentary bout of sympathy.

"Look, Dad, after what I've seen and done, that's less than a blip on my radar. Don't get all lathered up over it now. That ship has sailed and it ain't coming back. But when I say I know what Emily is going through, I really do. There's no way you can understand this, so stop acting like you're the magic parental oracle and get out of my way."

"What do you want from me, Dean? Do you want me to be sorry? I am. Do you want to take a swing? Let 'er rip."

"I'm diggin' door number two at this point, but I'd settle for you shuttin' your pie hole and getting out of my kid's head." This was going on too long, too deep, and it wasn't safe for Emily to have this all gurgling out inside her head.

"Hear me out and if you want to kick my ass, we'll find a corner somewhere and you can give it your best shot."

"Talk fast because the clock is running and I want you out of here by the time she's ready for Cheerios."

John sank back down into the chair like his body was just too heavy to hold up any longer. "I never meant to hurt Emily. It started out as sort of a rescue mission. It was something I could do to help her and help you at the same time. And, by the way, I meant what I said. You are a good father, Dean. It's your mother in you that makes you that way. I didn't listen when your mother told me not to meddle down here, not to watch you."

Now, it was Dean's turn to sit rather than fall down.

"Wait. Mom told you not to do this?"

"Yeah."

"Mom? She's knows about all of this?" He couldn't help but turn his head toward the violet sky Emily had brushed over her world. The thought that he could be making eye contact with her, with that iconic mother who would be the one to honestly understand what he wanted for Emily stopped him cold. "Does she--" the break in his voice stopped him briefly, "—does she see us?"

"She says she doesn't. Doesn't want to invade your privacy, but Mary's got her secrets so I can't be sure." A smile crossed his face, like thinking of her, of getting back to her, made him feel better. "The dream walking, though, she draws a hard line when it comes to mixing the living and the dead."

He knew Mom would be his ally.

"I hope she's pissed."

"You'll be happy to know she is. I only intended to come here a couple of times, but I couldn't stop. It was a chance to right everything I screwed up with you boys, even with Adam. No monsters. No master plan to chase down a demon. No lies. No scrounging for a buck or a place to live. I hadn't made any mistakes and all I had to do was be with her. I got a little hooked on it and it ended badly. But, Dean, I swear to you that I never, ever thought she'd be hurt or I wouldn't have done it. I only came back tonight to try to repair the damage."

He wasn't going to bend, wasn't going to suddenly pull some Lifetime chick movie bullshit and rush over and hug his Dad and say all was forgiven. If he was remorseful, so fucking be it. He could show it with actions.

"You wanna' make this right, Dad? Then you fix this. You show her how to shut that demon down herself in her dreams. Teach her that then you let her alone."

"That was kinda my plan, but just know that she's not going to be able to do it every time, Dean." Emily laughed out loud as she and the puppies performed a crazy version of Ring Around the Rosie with Emily running in circles and her posse following behind. "Without me setting up the dreamfield for her, she may not be able to do it at all. What are you going to do about those nights."

This was the part he knew about, the part he was confident about. There was no way around the secrets he was going to keep from Emily about the demon, about the brutal messed up night she was conceived, but this was one decision he could feel good about. "I'll be there. She'll get stronger because we're going to have a home and she's going to know I'm there every single day. And Sammy will be there and Emily will be first over every monster hunt. She's first. She'll know that."

"You probably won't believe this," John seemed to relax a bit, like he knew the worst was over and he was in the home stretch of his penance, "but that was always what I wanted for you boys. I thought if I killed the thing that killed Mary, killed all the other supernatural crap out there, I could take us back to that life. Just didn't count on there being so many. It just didn't work out that way for me, but it looks like you and Sammy are going to make it happen. You deserve it, son, and if I made you feel like you didn't, that's my failure."

They sat in silence for a time, John smiling sadly at the last moments he'd be able to watch Emily. Dean had burned through most of his anger. What was left was equal parts loss and hope.

"You know what Mom said to me when we met back in '73? She said the worst thing she could think of was for her children to be raised the way she was, as hunters. I'm trying to get this as much for her as for Emily."

It was weird how big John Winchester used to seem. There was a time when he was this man of steel hero. The ideal. Too friggin' perfect to live up to. Now, he was just a guy who made a bunch of fuck ups he couldn't undo. It was the first genuine common frame of reference Dean had ever truly felt with his father. Even with his rage eating a hole in his belly, the compassion was finding a way to eke its way around the edges. He wasn't going to offer up any excuses for his dad, but the truth was the truth and Dean Winchester didn't want to be a hypocrite.

The teapot felt almost silly in his hand as Dean poured his dad's cup full of blue tea. "You put our feet on the path, Dad, but me and Sammy kept walking it. That's on us. I just don't want to chain my kid to that. I want her free to choose this life or another, whatever she wants."

"There's no way you're going to get out completely. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, but there's middle ground, Dad. She'll have as much normal as I can scrape together to give her."

John took up the dainty cup and drank. "You mind if I do this alone?"

"I have your word? You'll do it and go for good?"

"Yes." John opened his mouth to say more, closed it, then tried again. He looked Dean square in the eye and finally made his way to the words. "One day you may find yourself standing in front of Emily wearing these same shoes. When that day comes, Dean, and you look back on this, I don't want you to feel bad, because no matter how pissed off you are at me, you're still my boy and I'm still your dad and I love you."

He answered with a nod, deciding to let everything said be the period at the end of their relationship. Dean was going to trust his father to do the right thing and that could stand in the place of forgiveness.

"Hey, Emily!" Dean walked off the platform and met the little girl halfway as she ran toward him. He got down on one knee, feeling the warmth as she tackled him in a happy embrace around his neck. "I'm going to leave you and Grandpa to finish your party."

"You're leaving?" She hugged tighter, the tiny twinge of panic making its way into her voice.

"I'm just going back into my own dream because I'm too tired to be much fun." Dean pulled her back and kissed her cheek. "I'll see you when you roll over in bed to wake up."

"'Kay, Daddy."

"Go talk to Grandpa and have your sweet dream."

Emily kissed him back and ran up to the table, climbing up onto John's lap.

His path out of Emily's crazy tea party world took him past the shabby brick wall holding her personal demon and he couldn't resist a kick to the masonry. "Yeah, another Winchester is gonna' kick your ass, bitch. Just wait."

***

It was hard to watch Dean go as he made his way out of Emily's dream and went his own way. Emily was snuggled up in John's lap, chowing down on the remains of cherry pie and sucking up blue tea. One thing was for certain, Baby Girl had her daddy's table manners and it made him laugh. As disappointed and sadly enlightened as John felt at the moment, this kid making slurpy noises was enough to make him laugh. It reminded him of the father he was before the fire and blood. There were good times for him, Dean, and Sammy before, but that wall made out of smoke and yellow eyes made that hard for them to look back and see clearly.

But he could feel it now, sitting on his knee, happy and contented to be with him with all of his flaws that she couldn't see.

"Emily, I've got to tell you something and I need you to be a big girl and listen. Can you do that?"

The little girl had trailed her hand down toward the ground to let one of the puppies lick cherries off of her fingers. "Uh huh. I listen good."

Gently, he took her chin in his hand and turned her face back toward his. "You remember how I told you that I lived up in Heaven and was just visiting you here in your dreams?"

"Yep. And we have fun, too! Tomorrow's your pick so what 'cha wanna' do?"

Shit.

"Well, you see, sweetheart, I've run out of visiting time because we only get a little bit." Her eyes went wide and wet and he had to hug her close. "I wish I could keep coming to see you, but all my magic is used up."

"The monster will get me, Grandpa. Please don't leave me."

It was the big I told you so. Damage done. Wrong fork taken. Little arms clinging. Phone call ignored.

"Hey, hey, there's no need for tears, Baby Girl." John pulled her back from the chokehold she had around his neck. "I'm going to show you how to do this yourself."

"Are you mad at me 'cuz of what I did with the lights? I turned it off, Grandpa. I promise I did and I'll never ever do it again."

Shit. Shit.

"No, Emily, I'm not mad at you, not ever. None of this is your fault." He felt a terrible déjà vu churn up in his chest with Sam's name wailing inside. "You are always going to be special to me, no matter what, and I know that one day we're going to see each other again."

"When?" Her nose was red and John used a napkin to help her blow.

"When you're an old, old lady with grandchildren of your own and it's your time to come to heaven." That's what he wanted for her, for Emily to live and live until she was gray and wrinkled with a million stories to tell him when she arrived in Paradise. Dean would make sure Emily got that life and she'd be getting it for all of them. She'd be the one to cross the finish line for Mary, for Dean, for all of them. Amen.

"That's a long time."

"That's the way it should be." One more kiss to that soft head. "I know the monster scares you but do you remember how I told you that you were the boss here? That means that if you stand strong, you can wall her up just like I do."

"I don't think I can do it."

"I think you can. You're stronger than the monster, kid, because good is stronger than evil."

She was looking up at him trying to trust what he was saying. "I don't feel stronger. I feel scared."

"I know that, but just because you're scared, doesn't mean you can't face down evil things. Good can be beat evil, Emily, as long as good practices and is very, very careful." She believed him. It was all over her face. That hopeful, trusting face. If he was going to deserve it, he needed to be honest, no sins of omission. "I'm not saying it'll work every time, but you'll have your Daddy and Uncle Sammy there when you need them."

"I'm going to miss you, Grandpa John." She handed him the last undamaged cupcake and he took a bite. "Will you show me how to make the monster go away?"

"You bet." John sat her feet on the ground and took her little hand in his. "Let's go practice on that sonofa—I mean, monster."

"You were gonna say Daddy's favorite not happy word."

John laughed all the way to the brick wall.

***

Dean was moving in his dream, like he was getting closer to the surface of being conscious. Sam was trying to do his job, trying to watch for anything out of line, any sign that Emily or Dean could be in trouble. A few minutes ago, Emily had grunted and wriggled a bit, like she was about to get upset, but she'd settled down and was back to her calm snooze.

"Dean."

His whisper came out a little too urgently as Sam held his face up close to his brother's hoping to hear if he made a sound. He was so close that when Dean's eyes peeled open it made him jump.

Dean didn't waste energy on responding to Sam, just turned his head to find Emily still snoozing beside him in bed, her hand held in his. A relieved smile broke across his face and Sam backed off into the rocking chair. Dean's eyelids were at half mast, but he took time to give his brother a quick thumbs up before closing them and curling his body around Emily.

The knot that had tied inside Sam's belly untied and he reached down toward the end of the bed to bring Emily's Disney Princess blanket up to his brother's shoulders. Not because it was cold, but because it was just damn funny to see a pink fuzzy Sleeping Beauty snuggled up to Dean's chin.

Another mission completed.

Sam hauled himself out of the chair, snapped a quick photo for future blackmail, and went to find his own dreams.

TBC

**

_Pretty please click on that pretty, pretty box below and review. Every time you review, an angel gets a new trenchcoat!_


	35. Chapter 35

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Chapter 35

By: Suz Mc

Bobby had been true to his word. Sam leaned back on the trunk of the car, watching Bobby and Emily, framed by a bright blue September sky, high above him in the bucket of an old utility truck. The little girl was safely harnessed to the inside of the bucket as Bobby reached up to twist the shattered remains of a huge bulb out of its socket. Sam felt a shiver when he thought back a few years at how Bobby was, tied to a squeaky wheelchair and close to letting go into the void. Two years ago they'd almost lost Bobby and Ellen and so many more.

There was a familiar churn in the pit of his stomach and Sam swallowed hard against it. They'd agreed to let all that go and never bring up how they got out of that particular fuck up with everybody back and whole. As long as that bedtime story stayed in their circle, the mess would end there. Letting it lie meant not thinking about it and Sam shut it down by focusing on a kid blowing bubbles in the breeze.

It was impossible to make out what she was saying, but Emily was saying a lot in between puffs of air through a bubble wand. Soap bubbles were floating all around the yard while she giggled and babbled things to Bobby.

One bubble drifted down to break on the Impala's body and Sam scrubbed the ring clean before Dean could see it. It really wasn't a big deal. Dean wouldn't be mad because it was Emily, but it was a new reflex to cover for her. It was just a bubble mark on the paintjob. No biggie. Not yet. A bubble mark he could make go away, easy.

"Hey." Dean made himself at home at Sam's shoulder and offered a cold beer. "I'll be glad when she gets those bubbles away from my paintjob. I might have to rewax."

Sam twisted the top free and snapped it across the yard. "Bikini or Brazilian?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Who were you talking to in there?" Dean had been pacing back and forth in the kitchen for the past thirty minutes, wearing a path in the floor and doing that nervous head rubbing crap he did when he was in a situation that was less agreeable than a molasses enema.

"Jane, the Ritalin deprived realtor. I feel like there are ants in my eardrum from her crazy yappin'." Dean tapped his palm against his ear before taking a drink from his own bottle. "I told her we'd be there on Friday."

Friday. That was four days from now. A definite spot on the calendar. Weird.

"Okay."

"Okay." Dean waved up at Emily and she waved back, blowing an entire flock of bubbles into the air. "You think she's all right? I expected her to be a little wonky today after everything that happened last night, but she's acting like a normal kid."

"This is never going to be normal, Dean."

"Thanks for reminding me, Sam." Dean kicked one of his ankles out over the other one and stiffened his back.

"Back up. I didn't mean that as a slam. What I mean is normal doesn't really exist for anybody. We've just got to be our own people and make that work out there somehow, Emily, too. Normal isn't a measurement that will work for us, dude." Bobby was bringing down the bucket to move them on to the next light pole down the drive. The wind changed, taking Emily's bubbles out toward the highway.

"Fair enough." Dean's eyes were fixed on Emily as she jumped out of the bucket and onto Bobby's back. The two of them climbed into the cab of the huge truck and moved it down a few yards to the next pole. "Damn there's a lot to figure out between here and Lawrence, Sam."

"Did the guy pick up his car?" Sam had heard the GTO's engine firing up earlier in the morning and he had to admit it, Dean had kicked its bad ass up a few notches past factory.

"Yeah. Dude was so happy he gave me a bonus." The bucket was on its way back up into the air, this time with Emily working the switch. "Wish I had time for a few more jobs like that. We're gonna' need some serious cash to get rolling in Lawrence even if the house is free and clear. Your 'I'm too drunk to play eight ball' routine has always worked out good for us. We could head back to that bar in Madison once more before we go and--"

"You don't have to do that, Dean. Don't you remember all those bank statements I showed you? All the zeroes? There's money." Sam watched as Dean's head started shaking back and forth before he'd even finished talking.

"I've already told you I'm not using Calley's money. That's for Emily. I'll figure something out."

And he was trying. Dean might be looking up in the air at his daughter, smiling and proud, but his wheels were practically smoking with the effort to find a bridge between the low budget life he lived and the secure, comfortable one he wanted for his kid.

If Sam was going to steer this boat in the right direction, he was going to have to navigate around Dean's pride. Something that wide and bulky was difficult to skirt, but Sam was going to give it a shot.

"What do you want to do?"

"For money?"

"No, for Twinkies. Yes, for money. Hustling pool's not consistent and now that we're on the grid, those credit card scams are out the window. Gotta go legit, so what do you want to do?"

The thought rolling around Dean's head was clearly unpleasant, but he straightened his face and resolve and forced it out into the light of day. "I suppose I'll have to get a friggin' job."

"Working for a boss? Is that what you really want?"

"What I want doesn't matter. I'll just do what I have to do."

Course change plotted, Sam turned the conversation. "Why don't we play a game?"

"So you wanna go do the pool thing?"

"Not that kind of game. Just humor me for a minute, Dean, and answer a question for me."

"Have you been reading that Cosmo survey bullshit again? God, you're such a girl."

"If there was no hunting and money wasn't an issue, what would be the way you'd like to spend your time."

"With Emily."

"Besides that. What do you like to do?" Sam stifled his urge to eyeroll when Dean got a decidedly unwholesome look. "Apart from women, food, and booze, dumbass."

"Way to shorten the list, Sam." Finally, Dean's concentration took hold and Sam could honestly see his brother letting his mind go in that direction. "I liked working on the car." It was almost bashful the way he said it, like he was a bit timid to admit to a desire that was all his own.

"So you could see yourself doing that, being a mechanic?"

Not once growing up had Dean ever shared a dream or goal that didn't revolve around hunting. Never. They'd never even been asked what they wanted to be when they grew up and Sam knew all too well what he'd gotten from his dad when he'd dared to go for something that didn't include salt rounds and exorcisms. But when Dean's fantasies had been forced to come out, he did have dreams he'd stuffed down to spare himself the disappointment.

Today was the open window day.

Dean was stalling, sucking in another gulp from his bottle then looking down into it like it was some crystal ball. "Not the oil change, tire rotation kind of mechanic. The kind that makes cars do what they're not supposed to do, like with the GTO. That was fun and it paid."

"A custom mechanic."

"And body work." There was a hint of excitement in his brother's voice that generally didn't pop up unless he was about to track or kill something. "I haven't done body work since I rebuilt the Impala, but I'd like to do more of that. Need to learn more about it, but the equipment costs a buttload." He shook his head hard, like he was rattling the possibilities from his mind.

"So you'd like to have your own custom shop to tweak fast cars?" Sam wanted to keep the idea growing in his brother's head and keeping him talking was the way to go.

"Well, yeah. That wouldn't suck."

"For hunters or anybody?"

"Guess I'd just have to see who showed up, but I wouldn't mind helping out our guys. Our kind has special needs and I know some tricks." There had been a slight smile on Dean's face, but he forced it away. "Last time I checked, they don't just give away garages and equipment so why are we talking about this?"

"Hear me out. I know you don't want to take money from Emily's inheritance. I understand that and I respect it. Why don't you borrow it from the trust, and then pay it back."

"Borrow it?"

"Yeah, borrow it and pay it back. Hell, Dean, with the balances in those accounts, Emily's trust would make back in interest what you'd need to borrow in less than five years."

"So my kid's loaded and I'm broke and I need to borrow money from a four year old to have a job to support her? No. It doesn't feel right and I'm not going to use her or her mother that way. I'm not."

He'd gotten Dean closer. Maybe one more detour and he could get him there. "Why do you suppose Calley set up that insurance policy and those trust accounts for Emily? All this took some thought and careful planning. This girl had a comfortable life, but she was damn careful with the money she made to put it away. Why?"

"For her kid's future, that's why."

"Yeah, she was pretty specific in that will she left behind about wanting Emily to go to private school and college. If she were here, that's what Emily would be doing, right?"

"And I'm going to make sure she does that. I already scouted some schools in Lawrence and there are three I want to check out when we get there."

"And during all that surfing did you read the price tags for those schools?"

"Yeah, and I'll find a way after I pick the place."

"Not if you don't use that money for what it's supposed to be used for."

"Sam."

"Don't you think Calley would want that money to make a good life for Emily now? That life includes one for you, Dean. If you don't use some of that money to build that life, to give Emily the things Calley always intended to give her, to make sure you're available to protect her and be with her, you're cutting her mother out of her life and that's wrong."

Dean started moving, pacing back and forth in front of Sam like he did every time he made any headway under Dean's skin. "I'm going to make sure she knows her mother, Sam. God, I didn't really know her, but she gave birth to my child, died for her. I wouldn't keep her from knowing her mother."

"No, but this is the only way Calley has left to be part of Emily's life, the last thing she can give her." Sam just stayed put, letting Dean wear out the gravel on his own. "Let Calley give you the means to set up that life for her. Trust me, there's plenty, and I know you'll be smart with it. After a while, you probably won't even need to touch it. Really."

Dean was chewing a hole in the corner of his lip, mulling over any way that this could be a bad thing. "You really think this okay? You're selling it good, but is it right?"

His big brother was asking for his opinion on a major life decision. If it hadn't already happened, it might have been a sign of the apocalypse. "Yes, Dean, it's right. Just take it, damn it, and stop trying to find a way to beat yourself up over it. You're totally making this harder than it has to be. You've had a home dropped in your lap and money to get off the road and raise your kid. It's a gift. Take it."

Dean stopped pacing and looked back up at Emily showering bubbles over Singer Auto Salvage.

"What's that kid going to think if she looks back and knows I used her money? I don't want her to think--"

"She'll think that she had a mother who wanted her to be safe and happy and a dad who made that happen." Sam sucked down another drink and let that last one soak into Dean's brain. "Jesus, Dean, you and your kid deserve this."

"You, too." Dean took his place back against the car.

"Me, too, what?"

"You deserve it, too, Sammy. So, what do you want? You got a plan for Sammy's excellent adventure into what passes for the real world?"

"How 'bout we get you respectable first?" There was that spotlight turning back toward Sam's life and he just wasn't ready for it yet. "That's a tall enough order to start with."

"Yeah, okay, I get it." Dean held up his bottle and waited for Sam to clink against it. "Here's to figuring out this normal shit."

Bobby and Emily were moving on to light bulb number five. In less than an hour, it would be like they'd never been broken at all. Easy fix.

"So we're really doing this?" Sam's beer was empty and he tossed it into Bobby's trash can.

"Looks like." Dean kept staring up into the sky as Emily raised her bubble wand and had Bobby blow a trail of transparent circles out into the air. "There's no way we can give up the hunt, not completely."

"No, there's not."

"Because we know what to do and we can't just look the other way."

"I agree."

"I mean, Emily's first, always, but if there are things close by that could hurt her, I'm going after them."

"Or I will."

"Thanks, Sammy."

"You're welcome."

***

In Paradise, hiding can be an easy proposition, even for beginners. Eventually, though, energies waned and amateurs gave themselves away. Mary had only needed to wait for Calley to reveal herself. Her sorrow was like a thick velvet pathway leading up to where she sat on a sand dune, watching as Dean took Emily through her bedtime routine. The image of the two of them played out in front of Calley, framed like an enormous work of art.

"Hi, there. Mind if I join you?" She sank down on the sand beside Calley, watching as Dean loaded Emily into a bathtub full of bubbles. Dean was talking a lot, trying to distract Emily from the frightening prospect of sleep looming over her. Number One Son was skilled in baffling people with bullshit and he was working his magic on this four year old.

"It hurts so much to see him with her, where I should be." Tears were running down her face and the breath it took to speak came in and out of Calley in hard catching gulps. "But I hurt her. What I got John to do made all her pain worse."

Continuing to beat that dead horse wasn't going to do any good, so Mary just slipped her arm around Calley's shoulders and pulled her in. She wasn't Calley's mother, but she was a mother and she understood sorrow and regret.

"From what John tells me, Emily's going to be okay. She's a strong little girl, Calley. You did that."

That only made the woman sob harder. "I can't let go of her…can't leave her…he doesn't know her…doesn't know how to take care of her."

"Trust me, I know what you're feeling, sweetie. I left two little boys and it was all my fault that they were hurt." It still stung deep inside to say it out loud. "But you can see that Dean loves her, can't you? He's a good man and he'll be a good father to Emily."

Calley looked up, forcing back the sobs and scrubbing her face with both hands. "I know he's your son and I don't blame him for what happened with the demon. He was actually really gentle when I had those few moments with him before crossing over. But he's had to be so rough to survive. How's he going to raise a little girl?"

Dean had Emily out of the tub and was reaching for a towel when she skipped away, squealing, "I'm neeeeeekkkkkkkid!" and ran out into the bedroom. He was trying to grab her, but slippery little arms were hard to hang onto. Dean wasn't annoyed, just laughed like crazy until Emily gave up and ran into the towel.

"He'll learn to get the towel on her before picking her up out of the tub." Calley was laughing now with memories of chasing that same wet little girl.

Mary took one of Calley's hands in hers and squeezed it softly. "Let me tell you a story about that big clumsy man who is still my baby, too. When Dean was a little boy, every day we would take lunch to John at the garage. My route took us past a fire station, with its shiny red fire truck out front and the firemen hanging out and Dean loved it. When I say love, I mean love with a capital 'L' kinda love. He'd hang out the window and wave and if the guys were outside they'd wave back and he'd just beam to have their attention."

"Emily loves a fire truck, too."

"See? She has more of her daddy in her than you thought." Emily was in her nightgown now and Dean was carefully combing the tangles out of her wet hair. It was done with slow, careful strokes, as he gently wiggled out knots so they wouldn't hurt. "One day, I called the station and when we got to that street, Dean nearly exploded because I turned into the drive. My three year old boy practically leapt out of the car, raced straight to the fire truck and hugged it. It was hilarious. The firemen really went all out. Let Dean turn on the siren and lights. Put him in the driver's seat. Let him wear some of the gear. He was in heaven. When it was time to go, they gave him a little plastic fire helmet and a Lawrence Fire Department Little Fire Fighter certificate. He wore that hat for weeks. Everywhere. Even in the bed and the bathtub. Every time we passed the fire station after that, he'd lean out the window and wave his hat and they'd wave back and it was like his path was set to be one of them one day."

That day had been so perfect. Making Dean happy took so little and her life had been everything she'd ever hoped for on that wonderful day.

"You see, I could always envision Dean as a fireman, wearing turnout gear and rushing toward a burning building when others are running away simply because someone needed his help. It wouldn't have been a profession to him, it's just who he is. Even though he never got to be a fireman, he's always been that person, the kind of person of looks after others. He looked after his little brother, even looked after his father, and he's saved more people than anyone can imagine. People who will never know that Dean is the reason their lives went on seamlessly and happily without them ever having to suffer the kind of pain he's known."

Calley smiled as Emily got down to her knees to say her prayers and the rough man in torn jeans and heavy boots knelt beside her.

"What I'm trying to show you is that there is no man on this planet who is more capable of loving and protecting that child than Dean. He knows her pain and he loves her. Dean's love isn't that dainty, dependent on the good times kinda love. It's big and boundless and if he loves you, you're covered for life. And, then there's Sammy. He's kind and brave and so smart. Calley, Sam has intimate personal knowledge of the struggle Emily is going to face to keep her abilities under control. No one else could know how to guide and protect her. You know what's to come for her, how precious she will be to so many souls, and it's Sam who'll get her through that."

Mary felt a tremble go through the hand she was holding. "Ten years isn't a long time. How are they going to fight Amora if she's able to rise again?"

She understood the worry, the helpless pain of knowing that there were brutal beasts roaming the earth that would happily rip your child to pieces. It was a burden heaped on mothers who had the knowing of such things. It lay heavy over the other fears of illness and speeding cars and bad choices.

"I know how heavy your heart is, sweetie. Truly. But you're leaving her with an army who would die for her, just like you did. Dean, Sam, Bobby, Ellen, and several others Emily has yet to know. I know you want to hang on but you just can't be part of it anymore. The fight goes on without you. John tried and he saw firsthand how trying to blend the living and the dead just can't be. Yes, there are special exceptions, like that night at the farmhouse, but this veil is here for a reason. Do you see that now?"

Dean had Emily in his arms now and had just hit play on her iPod. Music was humming through the room as he eased down into the rocking chair with Emily all soothed and comfortable.

"He's playing her music. That's nice." Calley began to rock back and forth, unconsciously in sync with their movements.

It was time to make her move and Mary stood, offering Calley a hand. "Calley, you hanging on to Emily is keeping you tethered to just a small part of the Paradise that's here for you. Just like you long for the day when you'll be with Emily again, there are two people here who have longed for you, sweet girl." She pulled Calley to her feet. "You're leaving Emily with people who love her deeply. Your parents didn't have that comfort and they have waited a long time to hold you again."

A man and woman had been patiently hanging back at the edge of the beach and they waved to Calley as she turned. "Go be the daughter and one day you'll be the mother again. I know it seems like a long time, but time flows strangely here. One day when it's Emily's time and her work is finished, she'll be here with you."

Calley took one long look back at the father and child rocking back on earth, soaking up every detail. "I'd like to know more about him, later, if you feel like telling me."

Mary pulled her close. "Any time. And I want to know every detail about that beautiful little girl." She let go and Calley headed across the sand to the waiting arms of her own parents. There were warm embraces and they left arm in arm.

Now, Mary Campbell Winchester was left standing on the beach with the option of being a total hypocrite or turning her ass around and getting gone.

The image of her son holding her grandchild got the better of her and she decided not to leave without a proper goodbye.

****

Some of the music on Emily's iPod was pretty obnoxious. Dean had come to grips with the fact that father-love required tolerating a lot of crappy music. He'd been working on upgrading her musical tastes starting with some 'Zep but she seemed to like the AC/DC and Aerosmith best. Maybe a little too much for a little girl. Sam had nearly doubled over when Emily had belted out most of the words to "Dude Looks Like a Lady" from the backseat that morning. Said she knew it from Mrs. Doubtfire, whoever the hell that was.

But this tune wasn't half bad. Emily had picked it and she seemed to be settling down nice and easy. It was old and though he couldn't place it, it was familiar.

"_It's Van Morrison, silly boy." Mary had eased in behind them, more than willing to take the shit she'd have to deal with from John if he caught her here. But farewells needed the personal touch and she was owed one. She'd stay separate, invisible, but she was going to feel this goodbye. _

"I like your music, Cutie Pie." Her head was high on his shoulder and she was humming along with the guitar. "What is this?"

The lyrics were playing now. 'We were born before the wind, also younger than the sun."

"_Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic." Mary sang softly behind them, now, remembering._

"We used to dance to it at the nighttime, me and mama."

"Like this?" Dean got up out of the chair with Emily wrapped tightly against his neck, legs tangled around his body as far as they would go. He walked them over to the window where moonlight was filtering through the curtains and started to sway back and forth with her. "You're a good dancer."

She giggled and squeezed tighter and Dean could swear he'd heard this song before.

"Hark now hear the sailors cry, smell the sea and feel the sky. Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic."

_Mary followed them to the window. God she wanted to hold him again. He was much older now than she was when she died, when she'd tucked him into bed and left him. She wanted him to remember this and she started singing again. "And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home. And when that fog horn blows, I wanna hear it, I don't have to fear it and.."_

"I wanna rock your gypsy soul, just like way back in the days of old." Shit, he even knew the words and he'd started singing before he realized he was doing it. "And magnificently we will float into the mystic."

The memory was almost dizzy when it flooded back. Nighttime dancing in the window. Ancient LP playing on Mom's stereo she'd moved into his room so she could share her music with him. Emily hummed against his neck and he held her with two arms under her bottom and remembered that light feeling of being held instead of holding.

"_That's it, baby." Mary slipped behind the baby who was thirty-four and wound mystic arms around his shoulders. The sax was blaring now between the lyrics. "And when that fog horn blows, you know I will be coming home. Yeah, when that fog horn whistle blows…"_

"I gotta hear it, I don't have to fear it and I wanna rock your gypsy soul, just like way back in the days of old." It was almost like Mom was here with them, in the song, in the moment, and he was passing it on to Emily. The sound of her voice was so clear in his memory and he kept singing with that sound, over Emily's little head.

"_And magnificently we will float, into the mystic." He was solid and strong holding his own child, but he was still her baby. Always. Sammy, too. John had them longer, but that didn't matter. They came through her and they would always be hers. "Goodbye, sweet boy." Mary gave in to one more kiss against his cheek, one caress across Emily's soft hair,__ before she let go and closed the window on their world._

A rush of warmth ran over his skin and Dean had to turn to be sure Sammy hadn't ninja'd up behind him to make fun of his singing.

"Love you, Daddy." Emily's voice was weary and light as she tumbled off into sleep. He couldn't be sure how the night would go, but at least her sleep was starting off peacefully.

"Love you, too."

He wasn't quite ready to let go of the oddly precious feel of the song so he walked back over to the iPod and started it over. He almost had Emily down on the bed when he decided it was too soon to let go and walked back over to the window to hold her a little longer.

TBC

****


	36. Chapter 36 Epilogue

Firefly 'Verse – Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Epilogue

By: Suz Mc

The sense of déjà vu was too intense to ignore when he rolled down the street toward Samuel Campbell's house. Only this time, Dean wasn't behind the wheel of some lame Pinto he'd had to boost. This time, he and Sammy were coming home in their own ride, on their own terms.

"Neighborhood looks great." Sam was scanning the street full of older homes and neatly kept lawns like he was expecting an army of zombies to flood out to meet them.

"Where is it? Which one?! Can we get out now?! Hurry up, Daddy!"

Emily had peeled off her seatbelt and was bouncing from window to window like a cracked out puppy dog.

"Take a chill pill, Cutie Pie." Dean eased the car up beside the curb. "We're here."

It was exactly the way he remembered it, like everything had been frozen on May 2, 1973 after he'd run out of the place desperate to find his mother before a demon got her. The Impala was sitting on the exact spot it had been when he first laid eyes on the place. It was a family's home on a tree lined street with a front porch and neat lawn where two hunters had died bloody.

"Dean? You okay?" Sam's voice shook him out of the memory.

"Leaves!" Emily had squealed it out while she shoved open the door and took off toward a freshly raked pile of leaves sitting at the edge of the yard.

"Emily! Wait!"

But it was too late and too funny. She'd jumped in with both feet and was throwing them up in the air to watch them rain down over her head. At least she was entertained.

"I guess she needs to blow off some steam after being in the car so long." Dean kicked back against the car, checking his watch. They were only a few minutes late but they'd still beaten the realtor here. Nothing to do but wait for her to show with the keys.

"We wouldn't be late if you haven't had your lunch date." Sam stretched his arms over his head, popping his back from right to left.

"Are you gonna keep bitching about that? It was twenty minutes, dude."

"Damn, you're quite a romantic, Dean."

"No, that's the efficiency of a professional at his craft, little brother." All he got in response was a disgusted glare. "All I got to say in my defense is that it's been six weeks, Sam. Six weeks." He held up six fingers to make his point. "Unlike you, who can send his junk into hibernation and only drag it out for a date with Fistina, I've got limits."

"You worry me sometimes, Dean."

"Oh don't get your panties in a wad, Sammy. I didn't even go after her, that waitress invited me to help with the heavy lifting in the storeroom and you got free dessert with the kid. Everybody went home happy."

"You are some piece of work, you know that?"

Before Sam's bitchface could take hold, Dean waggled an eyebrow in his direction. "That's what she said."

Sam closed his eye like someone was driving a spike into his forehead, then shook it off. "Let's go, you moron."

Dean and Sam made their way up to the house, both too busy taking it all in to say much.

"Damn, Dean. This place looks perfect. Like it's just been painted." Sam shook the railing and seemed shocked to find it solid. "I never expected to find a house that had been vacant for forty years in this condition."

"Yeah, weird." Every detail was the same, down to the friggin' shrubbery. It was a far fuckin' cry from No Tell Motels, that was for sure. "That nutty realtor wasn't kidding about maintaining the property. Wonder where that crazy broad is anyway? She was so excited about getting us here I thought she'd be camped out on the lawn."

"Daddy!" Emily was racing toward him, hair full of leaves, wound up like a spring. "Is there a backyard? Let's go!" She had his hand, pulling with all her weight and not getting anywhere.

"Slow down, kid." Sam yanked her off her feet and started picking leaves out of her hair and off her clothes. "We need to wait for the lady with the keys."

"I wanna see where Baby's gonna live." She was out of breath and wild eyed. "When is Uncle Bobby coming?"

Damn. Bobby had promised to bring one of those goofy dogs once they were settled, but Emily's timetable only had one column and it was labeled Right Now.

"Emily, can we maybe move in first?" Dean held out his arms and took her off Sam's hands. "Uncle Sammy wants to look around, don't you?" Dean shot a look toward Sam's pocket where the EMF meter was waiting for a look see.

"Yeah, I need to be sure everything's okay. Be back in a second." Sam slipped the meter out of his pocket and started a discreet stroll around the house.

Dean took a few steps back so that he could get a better look at the entire house. "See that window up there?" He pointed high and to the left, toward a window with sheer yellow curtains. "That was your Grandma Mary's room. Would you like it?"

"Awesome! Where's your's?" Emily had a bright orange leaf in her hand and stuffed it inside Dean's pocket for safe keeping.

"Right beside yours, Cutie Pie. Always." Sam came back around the corner, meter stowed out of sight once again. "How's it look, Sammy?"

"All clear."

All clear. Un-freakin-believable.

"Yoo Who! Hello, Winchester Family!" Jane Henley had fairly hopped out of a black Suburban and was clicking her heels up the sidewalk balancing a potted plant in one hand and some oversized version of a fruit basket in the other. The woman wobbled up to them and Sam barely caught the basket when it slipped out of her grasp. "Whoopsie. Sorry about that. Just so excited to meet you."

She was pumping Dean's hand with a bright pink lipstick smile stretched across her face. "I'm Jane and you must be Dean."

"Must be." He took his hand back, shaking it to get the feeling back.

This lady made Emily seem docile, as she gushed and grinned. "This little angel must be your daughter. Hello, sweetheart. What's your name?"

"Emily."

Jane made a dramatic production of trying to shake Emily's hand just like the adults, but the little girl withdrew just in time.

"I'm Sam." He intervened, drawing the high voltage attention in his direction. "Thanks for meeting us."

"My pleasure." Jane was digging a set of house keys from her pocket and had already popped them into his hand before he could ask. "You don't know how happy I am to welcome you and hand over this wonderful property. As you can see, it's all ready for you to move in." She looked around as if searching for someone else. "Did you beat the moving van here?"

"Uh, we're kinda starting fresh." Dean sat Emily down on her feet and she followed Sam up the stairs to the front door. Starting fresh. Great way to say that they didn't have shit except what was in a couple of duffle bags. At least they had sleeping bags so they'd have a place to sleep tonight. He hoped Emily liked camping.

"No problem. The place is furnished anyway." Jane was nervously holding onto the railing but staying at the bottom of the stairs.

"Furnished? By who?" Sam had turned at the top of stairs, still holding Emily's hand.

"It's all original to the house, everything. I told you it was move in ready." Jane had her cell in her hand, quickly checking messages.

The term "original" started to sink in with Dean and he started climbing the stairs himself. "You mean it's just like it was in 1973.

"That's right. Seems your parents closed up the place after," she made a tactful grimace, "the unpleasantness and left all the belongings inside. Everything a family needs should be right inside." Jane reached in her pocket and withdrew a card, quickly shoving it into Dean's hand along with a thick envelope. "All the paperwork is inside and there are numbers for all the important contacts you need. Utilities are turned on and if you have any questions, just give me a call."

She was halfway down the sidewalk, phone in hand before Dean realized that she wasn't coming in with them.

"Uh, thanks."

Jane Henley was in her ride and gone, disappearing down the street with her phone glued to her ear.

"Holy commission check, Batman. What the hell was that?" Dean took the stairs two at a time, landing on the porch with a thud.

"Guess now that she's turned over the keys, her job's done." Sam had pulled open the screen door. "We got a fruit basket out of the deal, though. Don't think I've ever gotten one of those."

"And a house."

"Never had one of those, either."

"What are we waiting for?! Let's go in! I wanna see my room, Daddy!" There was actual bouncing up and down. Pink sneakers springing. Hair bouncing.

A cool breeze blew up around them, jingling a set of glass windchimes hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the porch. It was a light, welcoming sound and the air swirled around, blowing leaves and making the sound brighter.

"We're not waiting for a thing. Let's go."

The key turned and they walked inside as the breeze died down behind them.

The End…

**_Thank you so much for hanging on for what turned out to be a very, very long story. Soon, I'll be coming back to the house in Lawrence to see how things are going. I have a feeling there will be something interesting to look at when we get back. Thanks again to Mai for being an amazing beta, to Kate and Kady for always guiding and supporting, and to every single person who left a review and a comment. You guys rock and there would be no reason to post without you. Later, Suz.***_


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